#I wrote the translation on the reblog c:

[the-mad-dog-of-eckhart]

Translation (by Google Translate and Tapas hehe)

The part where Callisto is arriving: His highness, the crown prince came to visit the Eckhart Dukedom

Callisto: There you are. My one and only ex-lover has finally made her appearance.

Penelope: ... Who are you?

Callisto: Your jokes are heartless just like you hahaha

Official art posted by Suol-nim on Twitter for April 1st!

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Doggystyle, Fingering, Oral (m! receiving)…

WC: ~10k (grab your snacks)

Summary: 

Nanami runs into a problem that every man dreads.

Now, you find yourself navigating the treacherous waters of his bruised ego and growing hysteria, armed with nothing but your unwavering love and a seemingly endless supply of patience, as you try to help him overcome this unexpected hurdle.

Notes: Hello! Trying to get back into the swing of writing again after so many weeks on a break and naturally Nanami is who I gravitate towards. I thought this one shot would be a funny idea, and as someone once told me, I wrote this with “my c*it on the keyboard.”

Please do not ask me for more related to this story. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

“Fuck, Kento,” you breathe, fingers digging into the satin of the pillow case beneath your head.

The soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp bathes your intertwined bodies in a honeyed light, casting shadows that dance across your rich brown skin. Nanami’s lips, hot and insistent, trail a path of fire down your neck, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive hollow of your throat. He drags his teeth along your clavicle, brushes his lips between the skin of your breasts. A breathy moan escapes you as his tongue traces lazy, deliberate circles around an already-sensitive nipple, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

His hands, strong and sure, yet infinitely gentle, knead the soft flesh behind your knees, coaxing your legs to open wider, allowing him to sink deeper into the welcoming heat of your body. The blunt head of his cock grazes that sweet spot inside you with each measured thrust, and you can’t help but arch your back, silently begging for more.

Your hair, messy from his fingers, frames your face in a splatter of curls, some clinging to the sheen of sweat on your cheeks. The sight of you like this—open, wanting, completely his—nearly steals the breath from his lungs and makes him double down his efforts.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had this. Weeks of Kento stumbling home late from working overtime, collapsing into bed still fully clothed. Weeks of missed connections, family obligations, and movie nights cut short with you both passing out on the couch. But tonight, finally, you have each other, free from the demands of the world outside.

As Nanami moves within you, his honey-wheat hair, usually so perfectly styled, falls in soft, tousled waves across his forehead, clinging to the perspiration that glistens on his brow. The strong line of his jaw is taut with concentration, a muscle jumping beneath the skin in a way that makes your fingers itch to trace its contours. His eyes, normally a cool, observant umber, now burn with a fierce intensity, a volatile mix of desire and something else, something harder to define.

But even as you lose yourself in the rhythm of your lovemaking, in the exquisite slide of skin against skin, you can’t help but notice the weariness etched into the lines of Nanami’s face, the slight tremor in his hands as they map the contours of your body. He’s been working himself to the bone, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion, and it shows in the tension of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. You had tried to get him to sleep when he sagged through the front door, but he was insistent, clawing at your too-big t-shirt, silent and too stubborn to listen to his body as he licked into your hot mouth.

He’s so tired. Mind still running through quarterly reports and half-completed project plans. But he won’t let that deter him. He’s determined to focus—to savor this moment, to lose himself in the intoxicating scent of your skin, to surrender to the tremors that course through him as your fingers ghost up his back. You marvel at the play of muscles beneath his skin, at the flex and release of his broad shoulders with each movement—a reminder of the strength he usually keeps so carefully controlled.

But as he leans in to capture your lips, that traitorous whisper of doubt in his mind grows in volume. That exhaustion that melted away from your touch has retreated to within him, to course through the blood in his veins and manifest again in its own, evil way at the apex of his thighs. Nanami’s movements falter, his rhythm turning erratic, unsure. You feel a change in him, a hesitation that wasn’t there before, and your heart clenches with concern. His brow furrows, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tries to hold onto the moment, to keep the passion burning between you. The confidence that usually radiates from him when you are both between the sheets seems to waver, leaving in its wake a man grappling with an unfamiliar sense of inadequacy.

He doesn’t want to believe it. He refuses to acknowledge the treacherous thought creeping into his mind. His cock, moments ago hard as a rock and pulsing within you, is betraying him. He digs one hand into the pillow beneath your head, fingers tangling in your curls, savoring the sharp gasp you shake out, desperately willing himself to focus on your heat, on your breath ghosting across his face—anything but the waning firmness of his erection.

With a low grunt, he thrusts deeper so there’s no room for his cock to leave you. The movement is sharper than usual, a force that has no trace of his care behind it and it immediately makes you blink through the fog of pleasure in your mind. You notice the change, concern filling you as you take in the tumultuous emotions on his face. His blonde hair falls in thick tufts over his forehead, brushing against the deepening crease between his eyebrows.

“Ken?” Your voice is soft, a gentle caress. You bring a hand to his cheek, and he leans into your touch as if your soft skin might anchor and keep him focused. “Is everything alright?”

Everything is far from alright.

It’s a nightmare scenario that Nanami can’t bring himself to voice. But he knows you feel it. Instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants against your vanilla skin, his fingers digging almost painfully into the flesh of your hips. He drives his hips deeper, angling upwards, trying desperately to lose himself in your pliant body.

But with his next thrust, the cruel truth becomes undeniable. What was once hard steel is now unbearably soft, slipping out of you as his hips collide with yours. Your gasp mirrors his shock as he jerks his head up to meet your gaze. The mortification in his eyes is palpable, a stark contrast to the passion that burned there mere moments ago.

“Ken, it’s okay—” you begin, but he’s already retreating, both physically and emotionally, his walls slamming back into place, shutting you out. You can practically see him retreating into himself, his shoulders hunching, his jaw clenching with a stubbornness of wounded pride.

“Hey, no, we aren’t doing this,” you insist, voice firm and laced with quiet determination.

You reach for him, your fingers wrapping around a thick wrist, anchoring him to you. You’ve spent years chipping away at his defenses, learning every facet of his being, and you refuse to let him shut you out now over something like this. This isn’t just embarrassment—it’s a fundamental shaking of his self-image, a crack in the foundation of who Nanami believes himself to be. An affliction that every man prays to the gods never finds them.

Limp dick.

You gently pull Nanami back to rest between your thighs, his weight a comforting shield against the cool air of your shared bedroom. Your fingers weave through his hair, feeling the tension thrumming through his body as he settles against you.

“Kento,” you murmur, your voice a low, soothing melody in the quiet room. “Look at me.”

He stills for a heartbeat, two, before raising his head, his eyes meeting yours. In their depths, you see a swirling maelstrom of emotions—frustration, embarrassment, shame. He’s tousled hair and flushed cheeks, an overwhelming exhaustion and stress etched beneath his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, cradling his face in your hands. Your thumbs trace the high arch of his cheekbones, feeling the heat of his skin. “This happens. It doesn’t change a thing—not how I feel, not how much I love you, none of it.”

Nanami’s jaw clenches under your palms, the muscle pulsing, a physical manifestation of the turmoil brewing within him. His gaze falls, unable to hold yours, as if the weight of his perceived failure is too much to bear. “I should be able to—”

“To what?” you interject, your voice gentle but firm. “To be some infallible sex god?” A soft laugh escapes you, your lips curving into a tender smile. “To never have limp dick?”

Those warm eyes glare at you, not at all amused by your light-hearted but poignantly accurate joke. “Now is not the time for a joke,” he grits out, his voice tight, strained.

“Now is exactly the time for a joke,” you counter, your thumb tracing the slight cracks of his bottom lip. You can sense his next moves, your body attuned to his very soul, feeling his inclination to withdraw, to roll over and brood, to let this momentary setback fester into something more. You tighten your thighs around his waist, refusing to let him drift away. “How long have we been together, Kento?”

“Three years.” His answer is immediate, automatic, a testament to the depth of your bond.

“And in that time, has this ever happened before?”

Your eyes lock—a silent battle of wills, logic against stubborn pride. He understands your point, recognizes the truth in your words, but his stubbornness matches your own. “No,” he admits, the word a reluctant concession.

“You’re human, Kento. Wonderfully, beautifully human, and the sexiest man I’ve ever known. Performance issues or not.”

He scoffs, but you feel his shoulders slacken, his body melting into yours as he exhales, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles. His arms tighten around you, calloused hands splaying across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if your touch alone could chase away the demons of self-doubt. Those beautiful golden strands tickle your cheeks as he nuzzles closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“Is that so?” he finally murmurs, and you can hear the small smile in his voice, a welcome change from the earlier tension. For as reserved as he is, Nanami preens under any sort of compliments you give him, a chink in his armor of cool composure.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, your hands sliding down to appreciate the firm planes of his back. “It’s a shame, really. You attract too much attention. I’ve been too generous with how long I let you out of the house.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into yours. Nanami pulls back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. The vulnerability from before hasn’t completely faded, but it’s tempered by a familiar spark of determination kindling in their depths. You don’t know if the subject has completely dropped. But for now, he doesn’t seem to dwell on it, content to focus on you instead.

“Well,” he begins, his voice dropping to that deep, velvety tone that never fails to send shivers cascading down your spine, “I should ensure your satisfaction. Maybe then you’ll extend my hours outside.”

Before you can respond, he’s moving. He sits up on his knees, hot hands wrapping around your waist before yanking your hips closer to him, a delicious show of strength that has your breath catching in your throat. Your giggle of surprise quickly morphs into a gasp as his lips find that sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue sliding against the skin before it trails down the rest of your body, leaving a path of desire that makes you shudder against him.

You expected a period of adjustment, a gradual return to the easy intimacy you and Nanami had always shared. But as time passed, you began to notice a shift, subtle at first, but growing more pronounced with each passing day.

That first sign of something odd presents itself on day three since that night, a quiet Saturday morning that dawns with a gentle golden light filtering through your bedroom curtains. You wake up to find Nanami’s side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Puzzled, you pad into the living room, your bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor, your eyes roaming the space for any sign of him.

Nanami sits at the dining table, surrounded by a veritable fortress of books, their spines forming a colorful barricade around his hunched form. His laptop glows in the morning light, casting his features in a pale blue hue, multiple tabs visible on the screen. He’s hunched over and shirtless, his bare back a canvas of dark moles, constellations you’ve traced countless times with reverent fingers, your lips mapping a path between each celestial point.

As you circle the table, drawing closer to his absorbed form, you’re struck by the intensity of his concentration, the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. His fingers fly over the keyboard with a single-minded purpose, a man on a mission, lost in a world of his own making.

“What are you doing up so early?” you ask, running a hand through the short, silky hair at his nape.

He glances up, and the determined glint in his eye catches you off guard. “Research,” he replies simply, as if that single word explains everything.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you lean in to examine the book titles scattered across the table, your brow rising with each passing second:

Male Sexual Health

Nutrition and Libido

Stress Management for Peak Performance

What the—?

A mix of emotions bubbles up inside you—amusement at his determination, concern for his state of mind, a touch of exasperation at his stubbornness. Part of you wants to tease him mercilessly, to watch that adorable flush creep up his neck, to see him squirm under your playful attention. But you bite your tongue, sensing the fragility of the moment, the rawness of his exposed insecurities.

“Ken,” you begin, your voice a delicate balance of understanding and concern, “is this about what happened the other night? I thought we talked about this, baby.”

“We did,” he nods, not looking up from his screen. “And I appreciate your understanding. But I can’t let it happen again. I’m going to fix this.”

There’s so much you want to say, so many reassurances you want to offer. You want to tell him how normal this is, how surprised you are that it hasn’t happened more often given his grueling work schedule. But you bite your tongue, sensing that this is something Nanami needs to process on his own.

“Don’t you think this might be…a bit much?” you try one last time, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on his bare shoulder, careful not to make him feel defensive and push him further into his own head.

“Nothing is too much when it comes to satisfying you.”

And with those words, spoken with such conviction, such raw honesty, your heart swells, a tidal wave of love and affection crashing over you. He won’t be swayed, and there’s no point in trying to argue with him when he’s set on something. You can’t help but sigh fondly, running your fingers through his hair again, your nails gently scratching his scalp in the way you know he loves. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, a low groan of appreciation rumbling from his chest as he guides your fingers to just the right spot.

As Nanami launches into an explanation of the benefits of Ashwagandha root, his fingers running along a line of text in one of the magazines, you can’t help but shake your head affectionately. You love this man, even (or perhaps especially) when he’s being ridiculously over-the-top, his determination to be the best partner he can be, even if it means diving headfirst into a world of herbal remedies and performance-enhancing techniques.

The days slip by, each one blurring into the next, a haze of normalcy tinged with an undercurrent of unease. It’s not until the morning of day ten that the true extent of Nanami’s newfound obsession becomes impossible to ignore.

The soft schick of his razor fills the bathroom, a rhythmic counterpoint to the rush of running water. He stands before the mirror, shirtless, a towel draped over his broad shoulders to catch stray flecks of shaving cream. You watch, transfixed, as he meticulously glides the razor along the sharp line of his jaw, each stroke precise, measured.

You stand beside him, your own morning ritual underway, massaging a rich, creamy lotion into your melanin-kissed skin. Your favorite scent of vanilla fills the air, mingling with the crisp, clean aroma of Nanami’s shaving cream. It’s a familiar dance, this shared moment of grooming, of preparation for the day ahead.

But as you reach for your leave-in, your eyes catch on something new, something that sends a jolt of surprise through your system. There, amidst the clutter of skincare products and toiletries, sits a new addition to the growing collection of bottles on the counter. The mustard-yellow label boldly proclaims: “Maca Root: For Vitality and Stamina”.

“Ken?” you murmur, plucking the bottle from the counter, your eyebrows dipping in confusion. “What’s this?”

Nanami’s eyes flick to yours in the mirror, his hand pausing mid-stroke, the razor hovering just above his skin. “Just a supplement,” he evades, his voice carefully neutral, a forced casualness he uses to avoid arguments he won’t win that always sets your teeth on edge. “For…overall health.”

You turn the bottle in your hands, eyebrow arching higher in disbelief with each word you read as you take in the bold, almost aggressive labeling. Your gaze darts to the other bottles littering the counter, a growing sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you take them in for the first time.

“Uh-huh. And the Zinc? The Ginseng? The…” you squint at another label, your voice dripping with skepticism, “L-arginine? All for ‘overall health’ too?”

He clears his throat, his gaze darting away from yours, focusing intently on his reflection as he studiously avoids your probing stare. “That’s right.”

“Baby—” you begin, but he cuts you off, setting down his razor with a definitive clink and shutting the water off, turning to face you fully.

The sight of him, bare-chested and gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light, sends a bolt of desire through you, a hunger that’s been left unsatiated for far too long. The thick cords of muscle that stretch across his chest and arms, the taut planes of his abdomen, the trail of dark blonde hair that disappears beneath the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants—it’s exquisite torture, a feast for your senses after days of famine.

But there’s a tension in the set of his shoulders, a skittishness in his gaze that sets off warning bells in your head.

“It’s the research I’ve been doing,” he admits, almost apologetic as he pulls the towel from his shoulders, wiping away the last traces of shaving cream from his jaw. “From what I’ve read, these have proven benefits for…various aspects of wellbeing.”

He seems almost afraid, as if he’s bracing himself for your reaction, steeling himself against the inevitability of your displeasure. Fortunately for him, the words are like a match to kindling, a spark that ignites a flame of mischief in your belly. You step closer, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, the supplement bottle forgotten on the counter behind you.

“Various aspects, huh?” you tease, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. This moment—when he smells of fresh soap, shaving cream, and mint toothpaste before cologne masks his natural scent—is one of many favorites. It’s one of the most arousing forms of Nanami Kento before he slides on his work clothes and gives the world a straight face and measured words. “Care to demonstrate some of these benefits?”

Your fingertips trace the muscles of his chest, slide along his skin with more purpose, your nails dragging lightly over his nipples, a teasing hint of pain that you know drives him wild. He inhales sharply, his muscles tensing beneath your hands, his jaw clenched tight, a reaction that’s as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

For a moment, you think you have him, that he’ll give in to the desire that darkens his eyes, that he’ll roughly bunch your skirt up around your waist, hike your legs up and around him and make the bathroom mirror knock against your back until you’re gasping out his name as you tighten around his cock.

But then he’s stepping back, his hands coming up to gently catch your wrists, pulling your hands away from his skin.

“We’ll be late for work,” voice strained, conveying his own battling desire. He brings your hands to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the delicate skin of your wrists, your forehead, your mouth.“Let me make you breakfast instead.”

And then he’s gone, slipping past you and out of the bathroom, leaving you standing alone, frustration and disappointment warring in your chest. Your gaze falls on the supplement bottles, a physical manifestation of his growing hysteria, and for a moment, you’re seized by the urge to sweep them all into the trash, to rid your home of these unwelcome interlopers.

But you resist, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you silently repeat the mantra that’s become your lifeline in recent days: I love him. I love him. I love him.

But as you square your shoulders and stalk out of the bathroom to start your day, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s got to give, that this tenuous balance can’t hold forever.

Day seventeen. It feels like an eternity, a cruel and unusual punishment for a crime you didn’t commit. You’re a prisoner in your own home, trapped in a world where the man you love is just out of reach, tantalizingly close but impossibly distant.

Seventeen days too long when you live with a man as loving, kind, and attentive as Nanami Kento. Seventeen excruciating days since the concept of getting dicked down was a given, a pleasure you could indulge in whenever the mood struck. Now, you’re reduced to grasping at sloppy seconds, thirds, fourths—anything for a crumb of cock, a fleeting taste of the intimacy you crave.

You’ve become a connoisseur of stolen moments, of fleeting glances and brushing touches that once held the promise of so much more. A shared look in the bathroom mirror that used to lead to soapy sex in the shower. The brush of his hand against the small of your back as you pass in the hallway, a touch that used to lead to him pulling you flush against his body, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. Now, you’re like an addict, desperately chasing the ghost of a high, sucking at nicotine-stained fingers for the essence of a hit.

In a last-ditch effort to reignite the spark to show him just how much he’s overreacting, you’ve taken to wearing his shirts around the house. You leave the top buttons undone, a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage on display, the hem riding high on your thighs to reveal the faint marks that he likes to lick against. But each night when you reach for him, Nanami simply presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips trailing a path down your body in a reverent exploration, worshiping you with his mouth and fingers until you’re trembling and spent.

But never with his cock. Never with the part of him you crave most, the part that once made you feel so deliciously full, so utterly claimed.

You feel dramatic when you think about it because it always brings tears to your eyes, hot and stinging with frustration and despair. Like you’re a petulant toddler wanting a cookie that’s been sitting on the counter all morning.

You’ve never been one to let a man dictate your life, to let his whims and insecurities hold sway over your own desires. But Nanami has always been a man to put you above and beyond anything before himself. If the women of the world knew what they were missing, if they could experience even a fraction of the pleasure Nanami Kento can provide, they’d be falling to their knees in supplication, just like you.

How far you’ve fallen.

And how little you care.

Tonight, you vow, will be different. You slip into the silk nightgown he loves, the one that clings to your every curve like a second skin, the baby blue fabric whispering against your heated flesh as you step out of the bathroom. Your heart races with anticipation, your body thrumming with need as you picture his reaction, the way his eyes will darken with desire, the way he’ll pull you into his arms and finally, finally give you what you both so desperately need.

But the bedroom is empty, the sheets still neatly made, mocking you with their pristine perfection. You frown, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you pad down the hallway, your bare feet whispering against the cool hardwood. As you approach the kitchen, a pungent, almost medicinal smell hits your senses, growing stronger with each step, mingling with the whir of a blender.

You round the corner and freeze, taking in the scene before you. Nanami stands at the kitchen counter, surrounded by an alchemist’s array of strange-looking roots and powders. The blender in front of him churns away, filled with a murky-greenish-brown liquid that looks more like something out of a horror movie than anything fit for human consumption.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice thin and strained, confusion and exasperation warring for dominance in your tone.

He looks up, startled, nearly knocking over a jar of what looks like dried herbs. “It’s…a health shake.”

You want to argue, to shake his shoulders and scream that this has gone too far, that he’s lost sight of what really matters in his quest for some unattainable ideal. But the determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way he grimaces as he chokes down a sip of the vile concoction—it all speaks to a desperation that breaks your heart even as it fuels your frustration.

As he takes another sip, nose twisted to the side to avoid the foul smell, his eyes catch your frame. They roam over you, taking in the nightgown, giving you the exact reaction you pictured before coming out here.

For a moment, you see that flicker of desire in his eyes that you’ve been craving.

But then it’s gone, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like guilt.

“I’ll come to bed soon,” he promises, grimacing through another sip of his vile brew. “Get some rest. I know today was rough at work.”

His words are like a knife to your gut, a reminder of the distance that’s grown between you, the way his obsession has consumed him so completely that he can’t even see the pain it’s causing you both.

All of this, because of one night.

You press your toes into the hardwood, your fingers twisting in the hem of your nightgown as you fight back the tears that burn the corners of your eyes.

“You…you don’t want to come to bed with me?” you whisper, hating the way your voice breaks, the way the hope that once buoyed your words has been replaced by a hollow, aching despair and annoyance.

“I want to finish this and catch up on a few things for work before I come to bed.” His gaze slides away from yours, unable to meet the hurt and frustration in your eyes. Unable to see just how in his head he has become with all of this. “It’ll be a little while. Sleep for me? Please?”

The rejection, however gentle, leaves you feeling exposed and bereft, a physical blow to your gut. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak anymore, and turn to head back to the bedroom, your vision blurring.

There’s so much more to this than just you wanting to have sex. You want to be supportive, to give him time and space to work through whatever this is. But you hate just how disillusioned he has become. His gaze and his touch are tainted now—held back by shame and fear of disappointing you. And you can’t help but feel like this is getting more out of control instead of getting better.

You love him, more than anything. But right now, listening to the distant sounds of him choking down that awful-smelling shake, you’ve never felt further apart.

It all comes to a head on day twenty-five. The day dawns like any other, the sun’s warm rays filtering through the windows of your shared apartment, casting a soft glow on the well-worn furniture and the mementos of your life together. It’s your day off, a rare respite from the chaos of the work week, and you find yourself moving through the space with a sense of purpose, straightening and cleaning, trying to bring order to the disarray that seems to mirror the state of certain parts of your relationship.

As you work, your mind wanders, replaying the events of the past month like a melancholy film reel. The distance, the tension, the way Nanami has been pulling away from you, retreating into himself in a desperate attempt to fix what he perceives as a fundamental flaw in his being. Insisting that he won’t let this happen again even though he won’t actually fuck you.

It’s a weight that’s been bearing down on you both, a shadow that’s slowly suffocating the light and love that once filled every corner of your lives.

Your feet carry you to the bedroom, to the closet you share. As you reach for Nanami’s side, intent on straightening his crisp dress shirts, your hand brushes against something unfamiliar, tucked away in the shadows. Curiosity piqued, you pull it out, revealing a plain, unmarked brown box.

For a moment, your heart stutters in your chest, a cold fear gripping your insides as you lift the lid, praying that it’s nothing that would point your partner in the direction of infidelity. But no, you shake your head, banishing the thought before it can fully form. Nanami would never betray you, never seek solace in the arms of another because there’s only has and ever been you.

It makes complete sense in your head, but lately—

You yank open the lid and gape.

Inside, nestled among crumpled tissue paper, are items you never expected to find in Nanami’s possession. Your fingers tremble slightly as you examine them—a cylindrical pump, clear save for the rubber base, and an orange prescription bottle, its label stark against the translucent plastic.

You stare at the objects, your mind whirling with a chaotic storm of emotions. Shock, disbelief, a rising tide of frustration and despair. This isn’t just Nanami being health-conscious anymore, not just a passing phase or a well-intentioned attempt at self-improvement. This is something deeper, something more desperate, a manifestation of the fear and inadequacy that’s been eating away at him since that fateful night.

Carefully, you replace the items, your movements mechanical, your thoughts a jumbled mess. A part of you wants to laugh, to find the absurdity in the situation, to release the tension that’s been building in your chest like a pressure cooker. But you can’t bring yourself to even stifle a giggle, the weight of your worry too heavy.

You sink down onto the bed, the cool sheets soothing the heat of your legs, and draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The weeks of distance, avoidance, the way Nanami has been retreating further and further into himself, straying more and more from reason. There’s so much more to your relationship than just sex, but it’s a big part, a well-practiced part that you both can be your rawest selves during.

But all of this is a spiral that’s slowly dragging you both down, a vortex of unspoken fears and mounting frustrations on both ends.

And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your shared life in your apartment, the photos and trinkets that chronicle your love story, you know that something has to give. And it looks like you’ll have to take matters into your own hands. This ends today.

Tonight, when Nanami gets home, you’ll address this head-on. No more dancing around the issue, no more swallowing your grievances in the name of patience and nonexistent understanding. It’s time to remind him of who he is, of the man you fell in love with, the man who’s always been more than enough for you.

The sound of the front door opening pulls you from your thoughts, the soft shuffle of Nanami’s footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Love, I’m home,” he calls out, his voice weary but warm, a balm to your frayed nerves.

He appears in the doorway, his tie loosened, speckled black on yellow draped over his shoulders, the top buttons of his blue shirt undone. His glasses are gone, discarded in his haste to shed the trappings of the office, to leave the stresses of the day behind. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as they land on you, a reverent smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So beautiful.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words, at the love and adoration that shines in his gaze, even though you’re in a ratty t-shirt and shorts, your curls thrown into a careless and messy bun.

“You always speak as if it’s the first time you’ve ever seen me,” you tease, tilting your head back to accept his kiss, a chaste press of his lips that nonetheless ignites a spark of longing in your core.

“Because it’s true,” he replies simply, his fingers brushing a stray curl behind your ear. “I’m going to shower.” He sounds despondent, unbelievably ragged with the weight of the day clinging to him like a second skin.

“Rough day?”

“A very rough day, my love,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, disrupting the sharp part that he makes every morning. He reaches a hand out to you, an invitation, a plea for your company. “Join me?”

The bathroom is a sanctuary of steam and heat, the air thick with the mingled scents of your body washes—cucumber melon and sandalwood. You perch on the counter, a fluffy towel wrapped around your body, watching as Nanami goes through his post-shower routine, his movements methodical, almost meditative.

Water droplets cling to his skin, tracing tantalizing paths down the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your fingers itching to follow those rivulets, to map the contours of his body with your lips and tongue.

“Let me,” you murmur, your voice husky with repressed longing. Your legs spread, the open lapels of your towel exposing a creamy brown thigh that Nanami’s eyes flicker to before he meets your gaze. You reach for him, pulling closer until he’s standing between your parted thighs, the heat of his waist seeping through the thin barrier of your towel.

With gentle fingers, you work through the rest of his skincare routine—toner, serum, smoothing eye cream over the delicate skin beneath his lashes. The domesticity of the moment, the intimacy of caring for him like this in whatever way you can, it’s a way to show him that you’re here—that you’re not going anywhere, no matter how lost he may feel.

Your fingertips glide over his skin, applying the last of the face cream with gentle circular motions. As you finish, your hands move to his damp hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes that crease faintly when he smiles.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, a soft smile playing on your lips. Nanami’s hands come to rest on your waist, his thumbs tracing small circles on your towel-covered skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, thickly. His eyes, those warm pools of mahogany, are soft with gratitude and affection.

“Always,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with love for this man.

Nanami leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. It’s meant to be a simple gesture of gratitude, but something shifts in the air around you. Whether it’s the intimacy of you both so close or the heat on your skin—the kiss deepens, slow and exploratory, as if you’re rediscovering each other after a long absence.

Your fingers thread through his damp hair, tangling in the strands as his hands tighten on your waist. Your tongue slides along his bottom lip, tasting the coffee he must have had on the way home, the hint of want that he wants to crumble into. He returns with equal fervor, pressing closer to you, sliding his tongue against yours, shivering from the soft moan that shakes from your wet lips when you both finally break apart. A gossamer thread of saliva connects you before he pecks your lips one last time. Nanami’s chest rises and falls deeply, coiled masculinity oozing from his pores, tangling with the downy hairs on his chest.

“Kento,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, “we…we need to talk about what’s been going on.”

Your hands train down his chest as you speak, mapping the familiar terrain of his body. Beneath your fingertips, his heart thunders like a trapped bird, betraying the melting calm facade he’s trying to maintain. The defined muscles of his abdomen twitch under your touch, a visceral reaction he can’t control.

“The magazines, the supplements, the smoothies,” you continue, gentle but firm. “This has gone too far. One off night, Kento. That’s all it was. Yet here you are, acting like you’re broken, like every moment we’ve shared before was somehow lacking.”

Nanami tenses, his body coiling like a spring beneath your hands. But you’re not letting him retreat—not like that night—and certainly not right now. Your legs wrap around his waist, the gap of your towel widening as you yank him closer, anchoring him to you, skin to skin.

“You think that I would look at you differently?” you murmur, catching his distressed eyes every time they try to evade your gaze, willing him to understand. “Think I would think of you as a failure? You like logic, Kento and I’m telling you the facts. You were tired, case closed.”

“But I—” he starts, his voice rough with emotion, eyes narrowing in frustration as he tries to defend himself. You silence him with a thumb to the plump skin of his bottom lip, tracing the divots of soft, pink flesh.

“You’re the healthiest man I know, Ken.” Your other hand drifts lower, brushing through the trail of dark golden hair that disappears beneath his towel. “You take such good care of us. And you never, ever fail to satisfy me.”

His breath catches as your fingers ghost over his hipbones, alternating between soft cotton and the sharp cut of his skin. “One night doesn’t change that,” you whisper, the hand on his face sliding to card through his hair, you lean in to press your lips to the strong line of his jaw. His fingers dig into your waist from your touch, Adams apple bobbing against your gliding lips as he swallows the burning desire that’s slowly searing him from the inside out. “It doesn’t make you any less amazing, any less desirable.”

You pull back, meeting his eyes. In their warm depths, you see a swirling mix of vulnerability that makes your heartache.

“I just…I don’t want to disappoint you again. While I know that you don’t care, being unable to provide for you fully is something that I never wanted to experience.” The confession is thick in the air, sloshing with what remains of the steam from the shower, coating your skin.

“Oh, Kento,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to his. The scent of his skin—clean soap and something uniquely him—envelops you, offers that blanket of protection that you couldn’t imagine going away. “The only thing disappointing me is how you’ve been pulling away. I’m tired of you feeling inadequate when you’re anything but.”

You pause, weighing the options in your head before you take a bounding leap, throwing care to the wind. Slowly, deliberately, you slide off the counter, your body brushing against his as you descend. The cool tile of the bathroom floor contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from your skin.

Kneeling before him, you look up, your gaze never leaving his. Hands slide up thick thighs, the hair on his legs brushing against your fingertips as you travel further toward the rigid heat of where you need him most. The hitch in his breath is faint, almost nonexistent when your fingers toy with the towel’s edge around his waist. You only wait a moment, three seconds too many as your hand undoes the tight knot and the towel pools at his feet and your knees on the floor.

He’s just as he always is—thick and heavy from your proximity alone, hard and filled with the blood that pumps wildly in his veins. When you wrap your hand around him, the heft of his cock makes your cunt squeeze. You know exactly what it feels like to have the most intimate part of him carving out your insides, and god do you need it right now.

You give only one stroke and the effect is instant; Nanami hisses, fingers flexing at his sides, extending and then curling in a fist as a means to keep his hands to himself, the head of his mushroom tip red and prickles with a thick gathering of precum. Just the sight makes your mouth water.

“I found those things in your closet, you know,” you purr softly, stroking him at an excruciating pace. “You actually think you need something like that, baby?”

A flush creeps up Nanami’s neck, blooming across his cheeks in rushing embarrassment even though his pupils are dilated from the sight of you on your knees. He opens his mouth to speak, fumbling for words that choke around another hitch with your next stroke.

“You don’t feel like you would need something like that.” And you don’t wait a second longer, opening your mouth, dragging the flat of your tongue up the backside of his cock. Each taste bud slides against rigid bumps of veins, gathering with more spit as he groans from your attention. You offer a gentle kiss to his tip, licking the salty taste of his precum from your lips. “You sure don’t taste like you would need something like that.”

The rise and fall of his chest is quickly leaving the pace of steady, his eyes locked on you and jaw flexing with growing desperation. You squeeze his cock on an upward stroke, your own body beginning to heat up just from watching him fall apart.

“Look at you now,” you tease, widening the gap between your knees, the heat between your legs radiating against your ankles. “You don’t look like you need help. Responding so beautifully to me. Not a hint of hesitation.”

The velvety hardness of him in your palm twitches from your words, hard steel that’s blazing hot, and just the sight of him above you is more than enough for a whine to build in your belly, an innate urge to have any part of him inside of you.

Nanami’s eyes flutter, long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as you lean in. When you finally take him into your mouth, your name falls from his lips like a prayer, brown eyes rolling halfway to the back of his head, eyebrows furrowing in equal confusion and pleasure.

You’re too eager to give him time to adjust—tongue swirling around the crown of his head and softening underneath him before building a nice, slobbery rhythm. In and out, in and out. Every stroke of your mouth around his cock makes your mouth water even more and your body relax, the dig of the tile on your knees forgotten.

“Fuck,” he pants, the rare curse slipping from his lips as one hand comes to rest gently on the back of your head. You hum in appreciation—in encouragement—building his confidence to squeeze the curly strands. The vibration of your hum of attention causes Nanami’s hips to buck involuntarily and you let your throat relax without thinking, let him hit the back before you swallow around him. “I-” he bites his lip, groaning from deep in his chest.

The heat of the bathroom is suffocating, your neck covered in curls prickling with sweat, sliding down your clavicle and onto the towel around your breasts that’s quickly loosening. Or maybe it’s your own body burning from the inside out, your blood pounding and surging to your core, swelling with arousal that leaks from you without even touching yourself.

And you’re dripping. The hand not at the base of him—stroking what you can’t swallow—reaches between your thighs, rubbing a clit that’s sopping wet with slick that drips between your fingers and onto the tile floor.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar ache to build in your jaw, a growing reminder of the thick cock between your mouth. But his throaty moans keep you going, keep your cunt pulsing and squeezing around the two fingers that quickly slide inside of you.

Nanami’s eyes, dark with desire, take you in—your messy hand twisting at the base of his cock, the hint of saliva on your chin, the prickle of tears at the corners of your eyes from the way he keeps hitting the back of your throat. Only he gets to see you like this. Only he gets to be with someone who will stop at nothing to make him feel supported and loved over something as trivial as a night of bad luck.

“I…you’re…” he gasps, unable to complete his thoughts when you moan around him. “Please just—just keep…don’t stop…don’t—”

As the tension builds, Nanami’s control begins to slip. His thrusts lose their measured control, the hands in your hair tighten, the quick breath from his mouth becomes tight as he bares his teeth and fucks your mouth. His abs are glistening with sweat, tight and flexing as he fights to stay sane.

You’re ready to burst from the seams, pleasure coiling at the base of your spine with each curl of your fingers inside of you, moans tight and sporadic in a familiar sign of your impending orgasm.

It’s when his eyes catch you fingering yourself that his control snaps in half, setting him off. He’s grabbing at you, yanking you from your knees with a strength that shocks you, your towel finally falling off your body and exposing you to the heat of the bathroom. Before you can protest, Nanami moves in a flourish, the last threads of his control dissolving at the shocked but excited gasp that leaves your lips.

In one fluid motion, he spins you around to face the bathroom mirror. Your breath catches at the sight of you both—flushed, desire-drunk, tanned and freckled muscles pressed against your back. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, a primal hunger burning in their depths, black eating away the warm brown.

The press of his cock against your lower back makes you arch your back, leaning over the counter without a second thought, taking him in through the mirror. His hands roam over your body with renewed confidence, cupping the heaviness of your breasts, sliding down tiger-striped brown skin to grip your hips. His eyes trail over the mess of curls on your sweaty back, the curve of your ass, the glistening of your cunt as it catches in the bathroom light.

He looks focused, almost angry—determined to make sure he does exactly what he’s supposed to do. Your body shivers in anticipation. This is the Nanami you’ve been missing—strong, confident, and utterly, deliciously yours.

Without preamble, you part your legs more, opening yourself up to his leering gaze as he watches you slide two fingers through your sopping folds. “I need you,” you whisper, your other hand kneading the flesh of a breast, pinching the nipple to make you arch your back more into him.

He presses forward at the sound of your voice, a beacon for him to bring you whatever you desire. “You have me.”

You feel him, hot and hard against you, and you can’t stifle the moan that escapes you. “All of you Kento,” you whimper, pushing back against him and stroking your clit faster, your slick sliding down your fingers to the center of your palm. “No more holding back, no more doubts. Show me how much you want me.”

In the mirror, the trepidation in his eyes, the worry between his brows. The disappointment from that night is surely playing in his head, teasing him evilly that he will never be able to make love to you again. But you won’t let him feel that way again, you’ll never let him feel inadequate. So you turn slightly to reach behind you, smooth a hand up the side of his face, caressing his jaw, angling your head to the side to kiss him softly. “You’re perfect,” you breathe, the words barely a whisper between you both, the perfect combination to relax the subtle tension in his shoulders. “So perfect for me, Kento.”

He releases a shaky exhale against your lips from your words, the vibration traveling through your body where you’re pressed together. With one hand braced on your waist, the other guiding himself, his eyes not leaving yours, Nanami pushes into you slowly. Finally. Twenty-five days too late and the feeling of completeness, of absolute rightness, is overwhelming. It’s as if a missing piece of you has been slotted back into place.

You whimper, panting into his mouth, sliding your lips messily against his. Your body stretches to accommodate him, a delicious burn that makes your toes curl and your cunt pulse around him.

“Oh fuck, Kento,” you keen, “you’re so fucking big—fill me so well—” His hips snap forward, cutting you off, a sharp cry punching from your lungs.

“I-I shouldn’t have—” he pants against your lips, ready to apologize from the force but you don’t let him finish.

“Yes,” you encourage, your voice breathy from the delicious zing of pleasure that throbs between your legs. “You feel amazing, Ken. So perfect.”

He shivers from your words and starts a slow, almost tentative rhythm. But your continued praise spurs him on. His thrusts become more confident, more forceful, driving you both higher in the stifling heat of your bathroom.

The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slick smack of skin on skin, breathless moans from his full lips, whispered praises from your mouth.

“So good,” you moan softly. “You feel so good inside me.” The hand on your clit resumes its pace, wanting Nanami to be fully immersed in focusing so he can get past this terrible roadblock in his mind.

“More,” he demands, kissing you deeply, the side of your jaw, nibbling your ear, begging you silently for more love and praise. “I-I have to know I’m doing well. That I’m making you feel good—"

“You are,” you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as he hits that spot deep inside you that makes white spots blot the edges of your vision. “You are—you are, Kento—shit fuck me harder. Give it to me.”

He bends to your will immediately, the pull of your voice—of your demands as easy as breathing, and he’ll give whatever it takes to make sure he can lay everything at your feet. “Fuck,” he groans, digging his fingers into the meat behind your knee, yanking it up onto the counter and you’re opening more, wider for him to slide in further.

It’s messy and animalistic, a building of sweat between your sliding bodies, a gradual intensifying thrum between your legs with each smack of his balls against you. Your body jerks with each thrust, pleasure scratching down your skin with sharp nails as your mind grows hazy, mouth falling open as the tip of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside of you, over and over and over with each inward stroke. The hand on your clit flies up to grab the sweaty porcelain of the sink in front of you, fingernails digging into the rubbery sealant along the sides. The other hand reaches back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

You’ve gone almost a month without him in the most primal way and your body is struggling to keep up. Your lungs struggle to pull in enough air, your slick-coated fingers slip against the sink, your hips burn from the open angle of one leg up on the counter.

But you can’t bring it in yourself to care, too deep in bliss to worry about your wellbeing, the pressure at the base of your spine building and building, molten pleasure bubbling in your gut as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” you gasp as you both climb together, meeting his thrusts as the tension coils tighter in your core. “You’re so strong. Love me so well. Fuck me so well.” Nanami groans harshly, shivering from your praise, reaching down to stroke your neglected clit, and you tense around him, choking at the pleasure that wraps around your throat, your cunt pulsing as it tries to swallow his cock and never let it leave.

You watch in the mirror as Nanami loses himself in the moment, all his doubts and insecurities forgotten. His face is a mask of pleasure and concentration, his body moving with a grace and power that takes your breath away. His hips falter, stuttering briefly to signal his match of mounting pleasure. He leans over you, his face in the crease of your neck, body bowing over to make you press further into the counter, teeth grazing your skin as he groans and pants against you with feral need.

He presses his fingers harder against your clit, rubs with a practiced motion and you’re tensing against the counter, scrambling for purchase on the sink as high-pitched keens shake from your throat. “Fuck right there, Kentooo,” you moan tightly. He moans harshly into the skin of your neck, relishing in the way your hot and wet walls tighten around him, doubling down, the fingers on your waist digging crescent moons into your skin. “Make me cum. Oh fuck, make me cum pleasepleaseplease—”

The hand in his hair tightens around silky strands, your body tenses up, your nose scrunching, pleasure pulsing and building in your cunt as you climb and climb and climb until you shatter.

A cry of his name, loud and primal, rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Ecstasy floods your system in overwhelming waves, each one threatening to pull you under. Tears gather in the corners of your tightly shut eyes, born from the sheer intensity of your release.

And like always, your pulsing walls are the final push Nanami needs. He thrusts into you harshly with deep punctuating strokes until his balls draw tight, fingers digging deeper, a deep, guttural groan shaking from his body as he finally climbs up that wall of shame and follows you over the edge, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you as your body continues to shudder with aftershocks.

Nanami doesn’t have the energy to pull out, collapsing onto you without grace. The cool counter against your cheek is a balm for your burning skin. As you both come down from your high, trembling and panting, you stroke his scalp with the hand still twisted in his sweaty hair, fading spots behind closed eyelids painting your vision.

After a few moments, Nanami stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before carefully withdrawing from your body. You whimper at the loss, but he soothes you with another soft kiss on your temple. You hear the sound of running water, the tub filling slowly as Nanami retrieves a warm, damp washcloth.

With tender care, he cleans you up, the soft cloth gliding over your sensitive skin. His touch is reverent, worshipful, as if he’s handling something precious beyond measure, and you melt further onto the counter. Once you’re clean, he guides your leg down from the counter, massaging the muscles of your hips and thighs to ease any lingering tension.

You let him lead you to the tub, sighing in bliss as you sink in the hot, soothing water. Nanami climbs in behind you, pulling you back against his chest as he settles you between his legs. The heat seeps into your aching muscles, the steam smelling faintly of lavender, the gentle lapping of the water against your skin a soothing lullaby.

For a long moment, you simply rest together, your head tipped back on his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as a thumb strokes the skin. The bathroom is quiet, save for the occasional drip of the faucet and your slow, even breathing.

Your mind drifts to the vulnerability you’ve witnessed in Nanami, the raw, unguarded moments he’s bared his deepest fears and insecurities. And only you will be the one to see that. You’ll be the only one to build him back up when he’s stripped down, to remind him of his worth, to love through every storm. Even storms that are as weak and barely damaging as limp dick.

“Thank you,” he finally speaks, rich voice vibrating against your skin, filling you with warmth from the inside out. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if to memorize the smell of your leave-in. “For being patient with me…for being supportive…” You feel the tension drain from his body as he exhales, slowly, as if he’s releasing the last of his worries into the steam-filled air. “I love you. Deeply.”

You smile softly to yourself at the declaration and turn your head to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and mischief.

“This wasn’t an easy assignment you know,” you tease, your voice lighthearted even as emotion threatens to overwhelm you. “I expect payment for my unwavering devotion.”

Nanami’s eyes, hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, roll playfully, a smile tugging the edges of his lips. “What’s my bill?”

"Moissanite,” you declare matter-of-factly, nestling back against his broad chest with a contented sigh. “The carats are up to you, but—“

“A gold band,” Nanami interjects, warm with affection and certainty. “Emerald cut. I have it memorized, my love.”

He punctuates his words with a tender kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as if he never wants to let go. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, a kaleidoscope of butterflies set free by his words.

“The box in the closet? Throw the penis pump and the Viagra in the trash,” you add, playfully jabbing your elbow into his side. “You won’t be needing those anymore.”

Nanami’s laughter rumbles through you, a deep, satisfying sound that fills the room and washes over your skin like a physical caress. “And if I want to be prepared, just in case?” he counters, his tone light and teasing.

“You’re 28, not 50,” you remind him, your own laughter mingling with his.

“Humor me.”

“I guess I could gather up all the magazines, powders, supplements, and various “aids” and present them to you in a nice box for you to use one day. Of course, you’d be single, so I’m not sure what good they’d do you then.”

Nanami’s body shakes with mirth, his breath puffing warm and sweet against your hair. “In the trash they go.”

You hum in agreement, an eyebrow raised before you tilt your chin. And like always, because you never have to ask, Nanami obliges, his lips slanting over yours in a slow, deep caress that steals your breath and fills your heart all at once.

Thanks for reading!

[bbyquokka]

6:55 pm (bc)

genre: timestamp, smut — MDNI!

warnings: fem reader, unestablished relationship, virgin reader, fuckboy chan, best friend chan, oral (f rec), vaginal fingering, pet names.

words: 1.4k ~ (1470)

a/n: this + the teaser pics = this mess. this sucks but i havent wrote smut since the changbin fic

☆ m.list — ☆ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“c-chan. wait–” you breathily whimper, fingers wrapped around the man's black locks. his fingertips dig into the skin of your thighs, teeth scraping the insides before gently nipping at the skin.

he looks at you through his lashes, a cocky and mischievous smirk resting on his lips. his tongue slowly darts out to moisten the skin leaving them to glisten in the faint light from the residue of his saliva.

you swallow thickly, your heart beating against your chest at an erratic pace. your body temperature has risen to max. it's a habit of yours to speak and not know when to shut up, especially in embarrassing situations–like five minutes ago to be exact.

you casually stated to your best friend (and fuckboy for that matter) that you've never been eaten out before. chan is your best male friend, a person you feel safe with so you have no problem over sharing, however, once you realised what you had said due to the fact that chan had a shit eating grin, did you curse yourself of your bad habit.

chan is the type of person to only do one night stands. he claims that relationships require time and effort–which he doesn't have right now. one night stands are easy for him. it's a quick fuck and you're done.

you don't care. chan is a grown man, he can do whatever he likes. however, you've heard the rumours floating around about how good chan is at eating pussy so naturally, it piqued your curiosity.

you just didn't expect that same man to be between your legs at this current moment in time.

“you want me to wait?” he cocks his eyebrow. the silver from his brow piercing faintly catching the light. “even after i've got you this worked up?”

you swallow as he hums. his fingertips delicately rubbing your aching cunt through the material of your soaked panties. he presses the pad of his finger against your clit, applying enough pressure to send tingles of pleasure up your spine. you gently tug on his hair causing chan to laugh 

“you and me both know that you don't want me to stop, doll.” he purrs before suckling on the skin of your inner thigh. he leaves purple bruises and teeth marks, your body reacting to the foreign yet pleasurable feeling.

he leaves feather-like kisses on the skin, inching closer and closer to your cunt. he looks up at you for any signs of him to stop, but when he is met with nothing but rosy cheeks and doe eyes, he continues. 

using his middle and index finger, he slowly rubs between your folds through your panties. you let out shaky breathes, chan humming softly as he feels how wet your panties are.

“fuck.. your panties have soaked up your juices nicely.”

“do you have to comment on it?” you mumble, feeling a wave of shyness wash over you.

“what can i say? i like to be vocal.” he says with a smirk before hooking his fingers under the waistband. “can i?”

you nod slowly, swallowing your accumulated saliva. you lift your hips up as chan pulls your panties down your legs and onto the floor. you're met with the cold air of the room hitting your soaked pussy as chan stares at it with hungry eyes.

“shit.. it's so pretty. you're so pretty yn.”

“stoppp.” you whine, legs aromatically closing as an attempt to make chan not stare anymore.

“no.” he whispers, gently prying your legs open again “let me see.” 

you whimper. cheeks flushing pink as you watch chan. his hungry eyes flicker as they take in every detail of your lower half. the way your slick coats your folds and shimmers in the light. how puffy and swollen your clit is. how your entrance pulsates as it waits to be filled with something.

“gosh you're so pretty!” he growls before diving head first between your legs. you shriek as a sudden explosion of pleasure shoots up your spine due to chan's wet tongue gliding over your puffy clit.

“f-fuckk!!” you groan out. he hums as he uses the tip of his tongue to swirl around the bud before licking long strips. he then starts to suck and gently nibble on the bud before slowly licking down to your entrance. 

you moan his name softly, his tongue lapping up your slick. he moans against your cunt from the way you taste, a switch inside him suddenly flipping making him want more of you. the way you sound, the way you taste makes him want so much more of you.

you tug at his hair as his tongue dives in and out of your entrance. breathy moans and shaky whimpers escape from your throat as your body and mind becomes consumed with the foreign feeling of pleasure. you free one hand from his hair to glide under your t-shirt.

you cup your own breast, squeezing and massaging the flesh as you unknowingly buck your hips against chan's face. the tip of his nose bumps against your clit which adds to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

chan smirks, letting you do as you please. he lets you buck and ride his face, his tongue alternating from entrance to clit. your fingers pinch and tug at your nipples, head flopping to the side as your lips part.

with shaky thighs, you desperately try to close your legs around his head but chan is strong. with the grip he currently has, it's a useless fight; a fight you should just give up on.

slick and saliva coats chan's face. your moans and the way your body moves sending tingles of pleasure down chan's spine and straight to his aching balls. his cock straining against his jeans. every now and then, he roughly squeezes and palms himself to relieve him of the ache.

you look down as chan pulls away slightly, your brows furrowing together as a way of asking: “everything ok?” chan simply smirks before gathering up some spit and spitting on your cunt.

your eyes widen a little at the dirty, yet attractive, action. all thoughts are quick to leave your mind once you feel chan rub and smear the saliva on your clit and folds. using two fingers, he rubs between your folds getting the skin coated in your slick. 

he teasingly dips the tips of his fingers inside your entrance to be greeted by sudden warmth and the feeling of you clenching around him. he laughs softly as he looks at you, your pink cheeks and doe eyes staring down at him as you chew your lip.

“is this o–”

“yes!” you hastily interrupt “yes! just fuck me chan. please.. i'm aching to feel something.” you curse your virgin self for sounding so desperate, but you couldn't help it. the pleasure you're feeling is so new and scary. you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wasn't scared of what's next but you know you're safe with chan and with each moan you make, the more you love it.

chan swallows thickly as he clenches his jaw. he makes a mental note of how adorable and submissive you look right now, forever burning the image into his brain. 

he'll use that to jerk off later.

he slowly pushes his fingers inside, stopping at the first knuckle. you groan at the feeling of fullness alongside with how thick his fingers feel. he curls his fingers against your walls, slowly pumping them.

your walls contract around him, holding onto his fingers tightly as if you're scared he will escape. he slowly picks up the pace, your eyes fluttering shut. he dares to push his fingers deeper inside, finger curling and caressing your walls.

he angles each thrust in an attempt to hit that spot he knows so well–and when he does, his ears and eyes are blessed with the sight and sound of you. 

you let out a long and desperate moan, back arching as his fingertips abuse your g-spot. you shakily reach down, holding onto his wrist as you dig your nails into the skin. chan smirks before sucking on your clit again.

“fuck fuck fuck. chan, so good. fuck!” you moan, your throat becoming dry from all the panting you've been doing.

“good girl.” chan mumbles “you're doing so well for me.”

your core clenches, stomach dipping and body sweating. you can't say or do anything because you're so consumed with pleasure. you're hazy and all you can think about is having chan's cock deep inside you, ruining your insides.

chan loves the way you sound, taste, smell and feel. his animalistic side getting the better of him as his fingers drive in and out and tongue swirling around your puffy clit.

he wants more; so much more.

tags (open): @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @fairylouist ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @cixrosie ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer

[shidouryusm]

Ghost town of youth - Suguru x reader

w/c -> 1.2k

contents -> bittersweet, angst, lots of metaphor and sea references, ig that's all

a/n -> idk man I just had a random wave of sadness about suguru and my tears wrote it. If y'all like it please support me via reblogs and comments :) also first time wrote geto idk whether I did a good job or not but I do love the lil sea metaphors here teehee. not proofread

The air brushes past you, little beads of salt sticking to your face and the skin of your lips. The sand below dips your heels deep into their abyss while the pull of the saltwater sweeps the particles back and forth in that white bed of grains. You feel the briney air kiss the strands of your hair as each of the thread dances to the unheard song of the dusk. 

The sound of waves are muted, almost too quiet to hear as they break against your ankles, resembling foams of soaps clinging to your feet submerged right where the shore begins. The ambience was scenic; the scent of the sea alluring to bask in, but there laid something that amplified the beauty of this nature more. 

Before you, was a sight that could only be called righteous – unadulterated and wholesome. Pure and tranquil. Far from any darkness that looms out there. 

The girls were silhouetted by the dying sun, their little figures prancing around the darkening sea, their pigtails dances along the motion. And behind them, you see him – arms outstretched, chasing the girls as they squeal and run and run further away from him. Their laughter doubles in pitch and happiness as he makes some kind of gurgling sound, imitating a monster. 

The chuckles of the two girls mixes with the breeze, creating a song even more melodious to tune into. Your lips curl into a comforting smile as their giggles mends your heart a little more than the day before. 

Suguru has left his monk attire at home, rather donning himself in a blue hawaiian shirt. He sends a glance across your way, eyes crinkled shut and a smile that translates to save me from this. You smile back, daring yourself to not show the inner turmoil creeping up on your face while you admire them from afar. 

It has been four years ever since Mimiko-Nanako stepped into your life and even though the aftermath of their entrance has been ugly, their simple presence and smiles were like bandaids on the scarred wounds. Like anchors holding both of your boats in an unrestrained sea.

But as much as they are a blessing, a hidden, fragmented part of your heart dares to speak out – wishing Suguru had never accepted that mission. That way he wouldn’t have to see their helpless faces smushed against each other, looking up at him in horror, with their little bodies trembling. Maybe that would have saved Suguru from the apocalypse he set into motion himself. 

Maybe today under the setting embers of the sun, you would be laughing with Satoru, Shoko and Nanami. 

Maybe then, Suguru wouldn’t have to creep up to you, farway in Sendai during your mission, offering you a portal to a completely different life– a life facing against the very people you once called home. 

You were ordered for immediate report on the sight of this man but seeing him in flesh had left your body to stand where it was. Eyes drinking him from head to toe. 

Was it your body that responded or the thrumming heart of yours that was branded by his name forever? You never questioned it. You never felt the need to because from that day onwards, Mimiko-Nanako had found another parent and jujutsu world lost another one. 

You missed Satoru. His obnoxious laughter, his lame but unnecessary sunglass collections that he possessed. Was he still this haughty or the loss of his dearests had left him in a loophole. Forced him to take responsibilty and raise a generation of strongest sorceres? You missed Shoko and the stench of the cigarettes she pulled out at the most random places, attracting glares of surprise and offence. Does she still smoke just like Iori drinks in secrecy? Heck you even missed Mei’s random bets with alarming amounts of yen and Nanami’s exasperated sighs. You missed everything. You missed everyone. 

And most of it all, you missed your Suguru. You missed the way his eyes used to twinkle at your random dates across Shinjuku. You missed his smile before he executed on planning devious pranks on you, with Satoru, only to later coax you with sweet words, kisses and hugs. 

You missed the genuinity of his smile. A smile that was robbed by the world. A smile robbed from you. You failed to protect him in your heart and now he has crumbled to pieces, along with the walls of your heart that promised his security. 

Slammed himself into a realm of extreme ideology that you still can’t bring yourself to accept. You don’t speak about it. Your blind acceptance was a testament of your loyalty to him. Your love that continued to grow only, swallowing you like a boa constrictor. You know his path is wrong. It is bloody and it’s killing every last bit of light in him, along with you. You clutch your chest as if holding your heart physically could help it from shattering apart.

You haven’t used jujutsu technique ever since that day. Suguru has accepted it. Upon enduring the death of his closed ones, your death would make him lose every resolve that is holding him by the thread to not go on a rampage. 

But how much of this can you tolerate? How many sleepless nights would it take on your end to finally stand on the line Suguru started his journey?

Your closed eyes didn’t sense his presence near you until large frame of his hands cages you in his hold, his mild scent wafting in your nose along with the oceany smell. 

“Anything on your mind?” his soft voice reaches your ear and the knife in your heart twists a little bit more. His head rests against your shoulder, little tufts your hair tickling your skin and suddenly you are teleported to the blue youthful days. Summer beach dates and hidden makeout sessions.

Only if you could have been saved.

You shake your head, leaning more into his touch while both of you watch your girls play, like a family promised of happiness. His embrace was the embodiment of chalk and cheese– with the warmth that served like a blanket in the chilly air yet the bloody coldness feeling like hugging a teddy bear fashioned with shards of glass. He holds you a little bit tighter, and you wonder whether he knows the dirty game of predicament your heart plays on you everyday. 

He probably does. your silent sobs never goes unheard in his ears. his heart aches for you but he knows where your love lies. Where your heart lies.  Anchored right against him. the only thing he can wait for is to let it rust. To let you strengthen yourself on your own in this doomed world. Even without your gallantry, your abandonment from jujutsu, he is assured about your support. Your love for Mimiko-Nanako and for him is what he may fight and die for. 

You watch Suguru drag his feet against the wet sand, absentmindedly trailing a path that you followed suit, your feet behind him on the white trail. He chuckles at your doing while you chime in, both of you indulging in a silly act of your own while your bodies flush against each other. Minds racing with thoughts but reaching one common destination - each other.

The sunset is beautiful and you wish time stalled here, you wished for the water to be this calm and you wished this little bubble of family remained as it is – playing in the ebbing waves under the twilight sky painted in the lightest pink. You know you haven’t caught up to him. Still following him just like the trails of the sand you both created. Maybe you never will. But moments like these where your heart aches for him and you are sent into the ghostown of his past, you can snuck in the happiness you had felt in the long lost youth. 

Who knows? Maybe Suguru will too.

comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[erinptah]

cptdanversbiggestfan reblogged spudly0 1m ago

sowl Follow 14h ago

HOLY FUCK HAVE WE ALL SEEN THIS

HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY F U C K

#superhero tag #Moon Knights #screaming crying throwing things

gnu-tony-stark Follow 13h ago

Someone from Jewish tumblr please translate for the rest of us??

mishegascleo Follow 11h ago

So it's a TikTok (from the official Moon Girl account, don't think she and the Moon Knights are actually affiliated, but I guess they team up sometimes?) of a Moon Knight saying a long paragraph that basically boils down to "don't be a jerk on the internet."

The reason Jewish Tumblr is flipping out about it is, this 1-minute video is packed with bits of Yiddish and Hebrew. Some highlights:

mishegas = insanity, craziness, wackiness

geneivat da'at = lying or misrepresenting something, literally "stealing knowledge"

kvetching = complaining

mitzvah = a commandment, specifically a good deed that Jewish people are commanded to do

schmuck = a dick, in both the literal and figurative senses

lashon hara = callout culture (no seriously, it's when you spread bad news about people that's factually accurate, but you're not doing it to help anyone or improve a situation, you're just reveling in the drama)

mishpocheh = family, including chosen family

And he uses them all right! And he's talking so fast, but the pronunciation is spot-on. There's no acCENT on the wrong sylLABle. Even if someone else wrote it for him, he wouldn't be that casually fluid if this wasn't a mode he was already used to talking in.

ORTHODOX MOON KNIGHT IS JEWISH, Y'ALL. And not a new convert (this is not a dig at converts, you are loved and valid!), but someone who grew up in a community that talked like this. My heart.

#superhero stuff tag #Moon Knights #the others aren't in the video but he implies they're Jewish too #this is the least important thing about all this but-- #it is officially kosher to call them Orthodox and Reform now #see what I did there

mishegascleo Follow 6h ago

Seeing a whole lot of schmucks in the replies going "no ACTUALLY he pronounced such-and-such wrong."

Well, I am here to tell you that Jewish people are found in all different regions and cultures! What you are hearing is a specific accent, not "pronouncing things wrong." Hope that helps!

#not gonna try to pin down the exact accent #that feels uncomfortably close to doxxing #let's just say I know a few people who pronounce stuff EXACTLY the same way #and leave it at that

allthegoodthorfanblogsweretaken Follow 2h ago

Ok but if they ARE confirmed Jewish, doesn't that make it INCREDIBLY problematic for them to be working for an Egyptian god? Like is this really the representation we should be excited about??

spudly0 Follow 46m ago

real people cannot be bad representation of their own identities you walnut

[sgiandubh]

Hola, Sgiandubh.

Mordor no debe estar muy contento con esas fotos que publicaste. Nos acusan de publicar recibos antiguos cuando hay un avistamiento Tait y, ahora, BIF y sus seguidores se dedican a rebloguear antiguas entrevistas donde ella hablaba del prometido "sin nombre". Ya se encargaba el magazine de turno de editar el texto añadiéndolo para que no quedara duda de su identidad. Como ese bloguer de IG que ha cambiado la secuencia de fotos y no ha publicado las que han causado tanto revuelo pero si se ha dedicado a seguir insultando a las #shipperscrazies. Manipulando la información real que hay disponible. Si eso no es reunir a las tropas para tranquilizar los ánimos no sé qué es 😆

Dear Rallying the Troops Anon,

Me alegra mucho que Mordor no esté contento con estas fotos, por supuesto. La idiotez colectiva del Otro Lado es contundente y menospreciar al adversario - la peor estrategia que pueda imaginarse.

But without further ado, let's translate your comment:

'Hi, Sgian-dubh,

Mordor must not be very happy with the pictures you posted. They accuse us of posting old receipts every time there's a Tait sighting, but now BIF and her followers are busy reblogging old interviews where she talked about the 'unnamed fiancé'. The magazine had already dutifully edited the text, adding to it so there would be no doubt about his identity. Just like that Instagram blogger who changed the order of the pics and did not post those that caused so much commotion, but who did continue to insult the #shipperscrazies. Manipulating the real information that is available.

If that is not rallying the troops to calm things down, I don't know what is 😆.'

Well, then - LOL. As I just said: I am very glad that these pics irritated the shit out of Mordor, of course. The collective idiocy of the Other Side is blatant and of course, belittling the adversary - the worst possible strategy.

But remember (hahahahaha), darling: double standard is a paramount policy of the Best Fans and the Only Ones, FWIW. They feel they have a license to do just about everything: repost things when reality bites and people begin to realize maybe things are not just as black and white (but rather more than fifty shades of grey, LOL). Insult people who dared question their honesty and/or intentions, with a ferocity that says a lot about their unsavory mob. And also play the ostrich, when people come to them with info like this very recent one:

The reactions are just priceless:

Sure, Jan, wherever you'd live (a 500 people village, somewhere, I suppose). Because social and business dinners happen on Saturday nights, since the dawn of humanity (where is McIdiot, on that Saturday night, since it's all so social/business? rehearsing Smooth Operator with Blonde Bambino?). And yes, of course, 'pictures or it did not happen' (it did happen before, btw, albeit with chaperones, but never with the multi-millionaire, successful music producer!), on that we agree, and it's rare - this round's on me. That being said, it's priceless to read (and almost hear) those banshee shrieks: 'They are not romantically involved!!!!!!!!!!!!' I spat my Coke, again and remembered this wonderful Terry Pratchett quote:

 'Multiple exclamation marks,' he went on, shaking his head, 'are a sure sign of a diseased mind.'

So, as you can see, that rally cry was also very, very far away from being efficient. As Cambronne famously said at Waterloo: merde!

One last thing and please try and not hate me for it, since I might have misunderstood what you really meant: there was no editing, as far as I know, of that interview BIF reposted. That name was always there, but once more, never uttered by C and just added for context by the journalist, when she wrote her paper. See for yourself:

Reading that last phrase tells the whole story: 'finding time that suits both their schedules is also proving challenging'. ROFLMAO. For Christ's sake, the 'intensely private' one ain't no Quincy Jones! And this is how you just know Tatler sugarcoated a very bland, unenthusiastic interview. A very common practice.

Salud! Don't be a stranger, Anon. You inspire me. 😘

PS: that banshee shriek was completely unnecessary. Anon just said they were 'catching up', nothing more (which immediately makes me think there was something more about it). Nobody suggested anything romantic. Pavlov's dog will always react to the stimulus, though. And thank you, querida, for the heads-up. 😘🙌

[kwanisms]

I cannot that believe in this, the year of our lord & savior Boo Seungkwan, that I have to be making this post.

STOP. REPOSTING. OUR WORKS.

Most, if not all, of the writers I follow and am friends with DO NOT ALLOW REPOSTING. On my blog, you have to pass three posts that tell you not to repost, translate, or continue my works. It's also posted at the top of every one-shot, chapter, timestamp, and drabble. It's on all of my masterlists. It's on all of my masterposts. It's everywhere except in my description. Do not repost my work. Do not repost my writing. Do not repost my graphics. Do not repost anything on my blog that has that funky little C with the circle around it. ©️ Stop taking my intellectual property and posting it without my permission. I don't care if you credit me. You didn't ask and even if you did, I still don't allow it. That's 70k views, reblogs, and comments I'm missing out on cause you stole something that didn't belong to you. And your cute little note at the end telling the readers to visit my blog and "show them some love uwu" isn't going to encourage them to do so and you know it.

If I have to keep saying this shit, I'm just going to stop posting altogether. I'm sick of this shit happening to me, to my friends, and to everyone else on this site. We work hard on these stories. They don't just fall out of the sky or come out of our asses. Some of these stories have taken literal years for us to write. I just finished a sequel to a piece I wrote four fucking years ago and it's sitting at just over 18k. 18 thousand words. 18,000. Let that sink in. It's not easy to write that much. Hell, it's taken me 4 years to complete the damned thing. Four. Years. Not days. Not weeks. Not months. But YEARS. And it's incredibly disheartening when something that took me a long time is just copied and pasted to another website without my knowledge or permission.

Make your own fucking content and stop taking ours.

And on that note; STOP FUCKING STEALING GIFS, TOO.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. ✌🏻

[meatriarch]

overview cont. i guess lmao. no one asked but its been something in the back of my mind for a while now & i got an anon tonight telling me i come off intimidating and i feel the need to just. make note of some things so that hopefully if anyone feels a certain way with how i run this blog then like. know and understand both my side as well as that my dms / disc is open for anyone to pop into -- just obv depends on the headspace at the time.

i know this is long & am sorry if it doesnt make sense but. just setting it gently out there.

but, again, my disc ( same as my url ) is open for any mutual. its open to shoot the shit. open for plotting. open for memes. what have you. i may not always get to every message. i may not be in the headspace for certain things or certain energies. but its open for anyone as long as we are mutuals & if handles are different between here & disc then i just get a heads-up abt who you are so i know lmao

likewise, i am fairly fucking slow writing-wise and alot of that is because of offsite issues chipping into me but also because most, if not all, of the things i DO have in the inbox or drafts are from my affiliates at this time ( tho i do have some more from the archive i need to move over from a couple people ). alot of my spoons and drive to write and post is because of the dynamics and plotting built between our muses. im not a blog centered on plotting but, it does help to have a better idea on how to navigate between muses c: esp for those technically outside of my kiddos' texas canon obviously. that being said, anyone is welcome to like any inbox calls i put out there. and my inbox is always open and accepting, even if i havent reblogged prompts in a while -- i have my tag linked on my pinned and its available always & for whomever. it just comes with the understanding that i may take a while to respond to them & they may not get as expansive as some of my posts can get with my affiliates; which again, is just simply from how much we've been building together that helps with that!

on that note. my connections with my texas pals are very dear to me. both ic & ooc. as i noted in my overview post, i talk about the dynamics we've built openly and freely here because theyre so integral to my portrayals. they & their kiddos have my entire heart and i unapologetically love having fun with them and going on tangents with them and bouncing thoughts off of each others posts on the dash.

my experiences in other corners of tumby rp have not been particularly kind. and its been a long time since ive felt comfortable especially ooc with writing partners. and i understand if i may come across closed off or intimidating or unapproachable. i understand if i also come across partial to them / play favorites because frankly... i am. i do. thats because they've built bonds not just between characters but also with me. ill be very transparent and say that i am very particular in who i get close with and that translates into here too. but thats also just something that easily can also happen with literally anyone. again i do understand if i come across closed off in any sense but genuinely? im not scary and i have options open for continuing to grow more connections with people c: theyre open always. what im not going to do, however, purely out of personal experience is chase after interactions. the last fandoms i wrote in i did so and it wore me down into my last hiatus. i will show equal enthusiasm to whats given. but i wont fish for it, either. its just not my cup of tea.

i like to think im fairly patient and understanding in a lot, probably moreso than i should in some cases -- sincerely though if theres issues know that im fine with it being brought up. but im also not going to be welcoming nor tolerate my boundaries being disregarded or disrespected, im already dealing with that with an offsite friend. not dealing with it here. i do not like feeling so uncomfortable existing on my own blog or in my own disc. and i get that already with my personal disc & this offsite friend in particular. im not dealing with it here too.

which on that note, i also wont be receptive with issues regarding what i post, what i talk about, who i write with, who i choose as affiliates or mains or w/e. my blog & my dash are my safe & comfort zones and these muses often help me alot with navigating when my headspace is at a fucked up level. if any of that is a concern yes youre welcome to come to me and talk it over but end of the day? my comfort & mental state is a priority to me. if thats ever an issue i truly would just recommend you do what you feel is best for you. everyone existing on this hell-plane are entitled on curating their space in whatever manner they see fit.

again. i promise im not scary. im not an ass. but i do curate my space to be in my best interest and at my age & experience across the 10+ yrs ive been rping on and off here, ive seen alot, heard alot, experienced alot. i do apologize however if i do come across unapproachable or intimidating. i do apologize if i seem closed off to only a select few. i dont mind if you follow / we're mutuals solely just to keep up with what i write! thats completely okay too and i thank those who are <3 but if i seem unapproachable i literally just gently gesture again to my disc or prompts tag etc! i welcome any to get to know myself or my muses. regardless of how much time has passed since following one another. just again, comes with the understanding that my social battery & headspace often does work against me. and thats not personal against anyone, ever.

[jikjinz]

I'VE BEEN WAITING; PROLOGUE

͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ [OUR SUMMER] ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

SUMMARY: a promise is a promise, though hyunsuk started doubting whether they are meant to be fulfilled.

TAGS: choi hyunsuk x fem!reader; summer love, childhood friends to lovers; fluff, not much warnings for this chapter apply

TAGLIST: @he4rts-for-minjae @favouritesblog

PLAYLIST: i've been waiting - fall out boy, lil peep, ilovemakonnen; our summer - txt; hello - treasure; that i miss you - vansire; hold me tight or don't - fall out boy; lovers - rebounder; summerland - half alive; 306 - honne

CHAPTER PLAYLIST: our summer - txt; straight face - younger hunger; july - hunny

AUTHOR'S NOTE: no i definitely did not forget to publish it yesterday, dfinitely not- anyway, here's the prologue and i hope yall like it!!! lmk how yall feel about it, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated and c ya in next chapter!! <33

SERIES MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST | TREASURE MASTERLIST

AS THE SUMMER CAME BY, SO DID YOU TO YOUR GRANDMA’S PLACE. WHEN THE CAR STOPPED, YOU IMMEDIATELY OPENED THE DOOR AND JUMPED OUT OF YOUR SEAT. BUT INSTEAD OF RUSHING TO YOUR GRANDMA’S HOUSE, YOUR HEART LED YOU TO THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR.

pressing the doorbell, you heard loud stomps, as if someone was jumping off the stairs. with the speed of fast, the door opened, and hyunsuk appeared. 

“you’re finally here!” his smile, the precious and excited one, made you smile as well. reaching out for your arm, he grabbed it clumsily and took you inside his house. “i have to show you something!”

every year you would visit your grandma, who was a gentle, loving, and overall sweet person. And so, it was no surprise she made friends with every neighbour so easily. fortunately or not, your grandma also befriended the choi family living next door.

the leaves in her garden were awfully stubborn; they didn’t want to leave the property, and since your grandma had spine problems, she couldn’t work it out. that’s when mrs. choi noticed the piles of leaves growing and growing. sending the ten-year-old hyunsuk to the house right by theirs, he was greeted by you.

both of you started talking and playing with the leaves instead of cleaning them up. almost immediately you two liked each other, just like your families. your grandma, being grateful, sent you with her iconic sweets to choi’s. and so, you and hyunsuk became little messengers of your families.

the bond you had was strong. as you two found each other quite interesting, the topics for conversations just never seemed to end. although you two were spending only the summer breaks together, the letters you sent back and forth during the rest of the year were the little things you two treasured. in the latest letter before the summer break, hyunsuk wrote he had to show you something cool. and that’s what he did.

“isn’t it amazing?!” he shouted excitingly, showing you the newest album of his favorite group. you smiled in response, nodding and looking at all the extras attached to the package.

“can we listen to it?” your voice practically sparkled with enthusiasm. hyunsuk nodded, carefully taking the cd out of the package and rushing to his cd player. as he placed the disc in it and pressed play, he sat down on the floor beside you. listening carefully, you two started moving to the rhythm of the songs. laughing, talking, listening, and dancing. that’s how you spent this beautiful summer.

as the summer quickly came by, even faster it ended. and so, you had to leave again. packing the last things to the car, you heard your name from behind.

“promise me you’ll be back next year!” hyunsuk demanded, showing you his pinky finger. though it might’ve been silly, he was dead serious. but you smiled, intertwined your pinky with his, and promised to be back next year.

apparently, promises are meant to be broken.

@ jikjinz & @ sha-la-la, do not repost or translate without permission!

[the-mad-dog-of-eckhart]

Translation (by Google Translate hehe)

First Image:

(In the rectangle is written "A sight I couldn't bear without saying a word)"

Penelope: "You both look good"

Reynold: "What are you talking about?"

Second image:

Reynold: “Brother, my hair color is strange … WOW!”

Besides the art with mini Callisto and Penelope, we go another drawing, but it’s about the Eckhart siblings!

It’s a continuation for this one, that was posted some time ago:

(These are also original artworks posted by Suol-nim on twitter!)

[hardly-an-escape]

man... I'm seeing the recency bias in fanfic firsthand this weekend and I'm having mixed feelings about it. putting it under a cut because it's rambly and long.

I don't track my kudos as closely as some folks do, but I've noticed that the AO3 emails have been slowing down lately. which makes sense, as the last time I posted there was in October and I haven't been super active on tumblr lately either.

but I posed a fic yesterday and almost immediately started getting kudos on other works of mine as well – and it's super obvious why, of course: people who enjoyed the fic I'd just posted clicked on my profile to see what else I've written, and checked out my other, older fics. same thing actually happened to a lesser extent here on tumblr, with likes popping up on older posts, presumably because people found my fic masterlist via my pinned post (which includes things like ficlets that aren't on AO3, AU ideas, etc.)

on the one hand, this is awesome! this is exactly how an archive is supposed to function, after all, just like how you go to the C shelf at the library to find more books by Agatha Christie.

on the other, it's hard not to take that info and translate it into "I must continue to produce work so that my older work will get noticed, too." I must keep my name up there among the most recent posts, I must stay visible. or maybe I'm not doing a good job of self promotion; maybe I should try to circulate my own older fics more, maybe I should tag my stuff better, etc. etc.

of course this is only anxious internal pressure, and it's fairly easy to ignore. I'm not in fandom for clout or "engagement," I'm in it for fun. and that kind of thinking is the opposite of fun, so I try not to give in to it. but it's hard sometimes. I mean, I want people to read what I write, and enjoy it, and react to it. I get a lot of satisfaction and validation from others' reactions to my writing, and I'm not going to pretend that that isn't part of the reason why I post my fic!

but I'm also a slow writer, and not very prolific when it comes down to it (for a lot of reasons, ranging from ADHD to a busy real life to my mental health). and it does bum me out a little when there's such a clear difference between the number of reactions I get to my work when I've posted something recently vs when it's been a couple of months since I shared something new. the joy of getting that attention is tempered by this bittersweet, "wow... I could get that feeling even more often if I was just... better." if I wrote faster. if I posted more.

but it also drives home how important it is to circulate posts and older fics! to go past that first page on AO3, to really dive into the tags for fandoms or pairings you love and seek out some older stuff. it drives home the importance of things like rec lists and masterlists, which enable us to collect and share works that may have fallen out of view.

(and yes, it drives home for me personally that I can always be doing more to lift up my fellow writers, to reblog and comment on things I like, so everyone can get that good feeling of knowing someone enjoyed something they wrote.)

anyway. lots of thoughts and feelings over here. and I want to be clear that this is all my own personal stuff – please don't take any of this as judgement or criticism of how anyone else engages in fandom. just barfing my thoughts into the void.

[twotailednekomata]

Danny Phantom Lore Doc (Part 1)

He~llo! This is quite overdue but I have a document where I list the things that happen in Danny Phantom that I like to share some snippets of. Most of them are informational while some I shared because why not. Since the way I'm going to arrange these screenshots is partially by 'whatever flows the best', I'm going to give the colour key to the doc.

Blue = Danny

Purple = Sam

Dark Green = Tucker

Light Green = Ghost Zone/ Ghosts

Red = Jazz, Dr. Fentons & general Amity Park stuff (there will be text to indicate which is which)

The text in brackets represents personal interpretation.

Also, one more thing before we begin, I have a choose-your-own-adventure style poll going on now! The setting of it is a modern day, fantasy world and it's currently just polling to establish what your fantasy race will be. I hope some of you enjoy it and, without further ado, let's get into the screenshots!

(I'd already shared this info in another post but I'm putting it again here)

(Jazz Fenton)

(Technically, I could actually hear it, it's just that a., it would take a while to translate, word for word, into the doc and I did not feel like doing that, b., when I first got to the scene, there was quite a bit of noise in my home, hence why I couldn't hear it properly in the first place &, c., the text I wrote was too funny to remove.)

(This isn't the only [ultra vegan on stereos] joke I'd made. To tell you the truth, I couldn't bother to try to make out the words that made up the phrase 'ultra-recycle vegetarian' (or whatever the phrase actually is) when it was first mentioned so I wrote that instead and kept it as a bit of a joke.)

(Amity Park) (More specifically, the students of Casper High during the menu change protest, but I digress.)

(Jazz Fenton)

(Dr. Fentons)

(Jazz Fenton)

(Jazz Fenton)

(Dr. Fentons)

(Jazz Fenton) (I have a post related to this, the driver license one and the screenshot below)

(Jazz Fenton)

(Dr. Fentons) (Here's another post about the screenshot)

(Dr. Fentons)

(Dr. Fentons)

(*The next bullet point is a series of screenshots of the Fenton Grappler*)

(And it seems I am about to exceed the photo limit so the next series of screenshots is coming to ⋆ a reblog near you ⋆. *snaps fingers*)

[markcrobinson-wordsword]

I posted 18 times in 2022

18 posts created (100%)

0 posts reblogged (0%)

I tagged 0 of my posts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

My Inktober pen-and-ink illustration of Jeannie from “I Dream of Jeannie” in color! Cue the theme song!

#inktober #inktober2021 #IDreamOfJeannie #draw #BarbaraEden #cartoon #drawing #illustration #genie #television #cartooning

1 note - Posted January 23, 2022

#4

Here’s one of the illustrations I provided a couple of years ago for a PowerPoint presentation called Voices of Ethiopia. This is my interpretation of Yodit (Judit), warrior queen of the Agaw people during the 10th century A.D., who founded the Zagwe Dynasty and reigned for 40 years.

#africa #africanhistory #ethiopia #ethiopianhistory #queenyodit #warriorqueen

1 note - Posted February 28, 2022

#3

Remembering on what would’ve been her 82nd birthday, mystery author Sue Grafton (Apr 24, 1940 - Dec 28, 2017), best known for her “alphabet series,” beginning with “‘A’ is for Alibi” which introduced her popular main character, private investigator Kinsey Millhone. The daughter of detective novelist C. W. Grafton, she said the strongest influence on her crime novels was author Ross Macdonald.

“I know there are people who believe you should forgive and forget. For the record, I'd like to say I'm a big fan of forgiveness as long as I'm given the opportunity to get even first.”

—Sue Grafton

#suegrafton #kinseymillhone #books #reading #aisforalibi #mystery #privateeye #crimefiction #hardboiledfiction

See the full post

1 note - Posted April 24, 2022

#2

Susan Spann delivers another compelling mystery set in 16th century Japan with this sequel to her first book, “Claws of the Cat,” featuring Hiro Hattori, a master shinobi (Westerners refer to them as “ninja”), who is charged with protecting Portuguese Jesuit priest Father Mateo in the guise of a ronin translator.

In this installment, the unlikely duo are drawn into another murder case when Hiro receives a pre-dawn visit from Kazu, a brother shinobi working undercover at the shogunate. Hours earlier, someone stabbed the shogun’s cousin to death at the palace. The murder weapon? Kazu’s own dagger. While Kazu proclaims his innocence, Hiro has reason to doubt the young shinobi’s claims. Though Hiro would like nothing better than to steer clear of another investigation, the shogun, having heard of Hiro and Father Mateo’s success in solving the events of “Claws of the Cat,” summons the shinobi and foreign priest to find the killer. Delving into the case as more deaths occur, the pair uncover a plot to assassinate the shogun and overthrow the ruling clan and must take care not to lose their own lives in a power struggle while revealing the culprit.

As with Spann’s first novel, I found this book to be a great read, bridging the cultural gap between East and West, creating memorable characters, action, political intrigue, unexpected plot twists, and a fascinating exploration of feudal Japan woven into a fun mystery. Four stars.

#mystery #crimefiction #feudaljapan #ninja #reading #books

1 note - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Harry McGraw: Look, Mrs. Fletcher, why don't you take some advice? Why don't you devote that boundless energy of yours to needlepoint or a bridge club?

Jessica Fletcher: Eh, I tried that. It's precisely the reason why I wrote my first book: I was bored out of my mind.

—Murder, She Wrote, Season 1, Episode 15: “Tough Guys Don’t Die”

#murdershewrote #jessicafletcher #mysterywriters #mystery

5 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[jeromeswife]

I posted 255 times in 2022

That's 66 more posts than 2021!

71 posts created (28%)

184 posts reblogged (72%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wint3r-h3art

@your-local-god

@dreamsequencer

@xmcu-fietro

@yourmybluebanisters

I tagged 40 of my posts in 2022

#namor - 29 posts

#namor x reader - 27 posts

#tenoch huerta - 19 posts

#namor the sub mariner - 18 posts

#namor x y/n - 15 posts

#kukulkan - 13 posts

#namor fanfiction - 13 posts

#black panther - 10 posts

#namor x you - 10 posts

#black panther wakanda forever - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 64 characters

#ya'll know i gotta write about the nasty disrespectful sex right

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

namor x f!reader - plump and ripe

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: An innocent date? With a god? No way.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, smut, penetration (mxf), choking, small elements of bdsm, oral (f recieving), light wakanda forever spoilers

Translations:

in yakunaj - my love

in reina- my queen

princesa - princess

“I am here, in yakunaj.”

Namor’s deep, hoarse voice echoed in your apartment. He promised to come to please you, see you, and touch you. Though he hadn’t said that directly, you could tell by the sensual writing of the notebook you both used to communicate. Namor didn’t have a cell phone, nor did he desire to have one. Instead, you had vibramium-infused tech pages that would send whatever you wrote to the other notebook. Shuri had made it for you guys after you guys took a trip to Wakanda to see her.

You walked out of your room and into the living room where Namor stood in his cape and signature green shorts. Your skin had been dressed in a red, sheer night dress that had the same color of red matching panties and bras peeking through. He licked his lips as his lustful eyes fell upon every curve on your (S/C) body. Oh, how he wanted to devour you and mark you as his. It wasn’t just something he desired. You wanted it too.

Your delicate fingers desperately wanted to touch his brown skin as you strode toward him. They stroked his biceps and traveled along to his neck, then down to his abs. “What did you wanna do, K’uk’ulkan? You came all the way here to see me after all.”

Namor’s arms wrapped around your figure, towering over you and staring down at your plump lips. “I was originally planning on eating dinner with you, but... That’s not what I’m hungry for anymore, In yakunaj.”

His tan arms traveled down to your ass, squeezing one cheek teasingly to single his lust. A small grunt was let out of your throat. Namor had always been a rough lover with you, but you enjoyed it. The way he would dominate you in several ways. In the bed, as your King you served as his Queen, bowing to his every move. You loved to please him as well. Whatever he wanted, you would do.

Namor leaned down further, his lips touching yours. The kiss started out as slow and steady. His moist lips danced against your recently moisturized lips from your cherry chapstick. You felt his passion grow stronger as he licked at your bottom lip demanding entrance. You consented to it and before you knew it, his tongue started to explore your mouth. It was rather long; brushing up against your teeth; against the roof of your mouth; tasting whatever had been last in there.

He could slightly taste the lingering mint ice cream you consumed an hour ago. Namor seemed to enjoy it as he started possessing your lips even more. His desire for you had grown even stronger from the last time you made love.

You could feel one hand of his travel up to your chin, firmly holding it in place so you couldn’t leave him. It was enough to give a few faint bruises. He just wanted to mark you as his in any way possible. The other hand trailed down to your pussy and began playing with it. HIs middle finger danced over the fabric of your underwear and stroked every outline you made down there. Namor rubbed over your clit desperately. And before you even knew it. your panties began to soak with your wet cum.

Namor smirked to himself and pulled away from the kiss he had previously melted himself into. His sweet kisses are traced from the edge of your mouth all the way to your ear, licking and sucking on the cusp of it. “So wet for me, In reina.”

His whispers in your ear made your panties become even more drenched. His other hand left your chin and scooped you up from your bottom. Namor’s strength was enough to keep rubbing you from the outside and carry you to your bedroom. When he reached there, he took the other hand away from your core and laid you down on the bed gently.

Namor’s rough hands began exploring your entire body as he jumped on top of you, asserting his dominance one more. The way he was handling you was almost animalistic. He wanted you and he was gonna please you no matter what.

The hands wandered up under your sheer night dress. They slipped under your bra and began massaging your breasts. You couldn’t deny how great it made you feel. With each growing pressure of the squeezing fondling, a fire burned within your core. You couldn’t help but get wet from his actions. Quiet moans left your mouth which made Namor grunt. He enjoyed seeing you act like putty in his hands.

Namor slipped off the bra and panties you were wearing to gain more access to you.  He only wanted more of you. This was not enough.

To increase your pleasure, Namor let his mouth wander your boobs and his hands reached up to your neck, slightly applying pressure. Though, it wasn’t enough to physically hurt you. There was no way he would ever hurt his love. You mattered too much to him.

His lips left kisses all over your boobs and began sucking on a ton of spots. He was determined to mark you as his all over your body. The sensation of the sucking and bursting blood vessels only sent you over the edge once more. With each sucking from Namor, more cum came out. Even though he had barely touched you down there, you were so close to an orgasm.

Namor’s teeth bit you more till his mouth was filled with your flowery buds. He slightly gnawed on it to tease you once more. It was a sensation that send hot shivers throughout your body, stoking the fire within. It was enough to make you burst into flames from the inside.

You were like a flower that he was picking off the petals till you were nothing but a whiny, bruised mess.

His teeth grazed your bud before clamping down on them. Enough to pleasure them, but not enough to genuinely cause you to be cut open. You couldn’t hold back your moans and threw your head back. With one hand around your neck, and the other left to pleasure your other breast.

“K-K’uk’ulkan.. please...”

See the full post

536 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

#4

how well does namor take care of himself

Namor does not leave the ocean to see you unless he makes sure he smells and looks good. If he ever left and thought he hadn’t taken care of himself well, he would quickly fresh up to make himself presentable

He basically doesn’t need to shower much due to most of his time being spent underwater. Namor would only leave to see you, but to also bring you down to Talokan.

Namor essentially exercises all day due to how much swimming and flying he does. Exercising wasn’t something inconvenient. Plus he enjoyed having abs for you to look at in hunger.

He is for sure a health freak. He wouldn’t dare touch any unnatural food from the surface world. Namor freaks out when you eat fast food because he fears for your health. His diet consists of fish, fruits, and vegetables. Namor really just wants the best for you.

Namor doesn’t need much sleep due to how powerful and efficient his mutant body is. But if you wished to sleep, he would sleep with you because he loves you that much.

543 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

#3

how well does namor take advice

Namor is pretty stubborn, so he is not one to take advice immediately.

If it came from you, he would definitely think about it. Wouldn’t immediately accept it, but he’d listen.

He actually really enjoys you giving him advice.

Namor could listen to you talk about an hour long lecture kind of advice. That’s how much you enchanted him.

“Namor, do not go to war with the Wakandans! It’s not worth it for just one teenage scientist.”

He’d get pressed for a good few hours thinking about all the ways to get revenge on them while avoiding you finding out.

You always found out, there’s no way around it.

Later on, Namor would sincerely listen to how you feel and negotiate a peace treaty with the Wakandans. You helped debilitate that treaty there to avoid any sass from Namor to jeopardize it.

“Namor, don’t spear the person who threw trash in the ocean.”

“But we have to teach them a lesson!”

“Just pick it up from the water and throw it at their head, that will send a message.”

He’s so grumpy when he doesn’t get his way. But he always listens to you.

Your advice keeps him from his plans to sue the human race with Matt Murdock by his side.

734 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#2

yandere namor x f!reader | super psycho love - part 1

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 1k

Summary: An unfortunate woman encounters the king of Talokan.

Warnings: Sensual wording and descriptions lil spicy, kidnapping, hints of stalking, future smut in later chapters

Translations:

In yukanaj - darling

kaab - honey

Something lately drives me crazy

Has to do with how you make me

Struggle to get your attention

Calling you brings apprehension

The fresh air of the summer breeze hit (Y/N)'s nose as she took in the beautiful scenery on the beach she's looking upon. The smells of sand baking in the heat, the saltwater ocean, and the light smell of sunscreen she'd adorned on her skin. On her little space on the beach laid her computer, a towel, and portable beach chair. (Y/N) decided to take a vacation from her hard work as a software developer. Of course, she wanted to go into the water and enjoy the relaxing sensation she'd heard about, but she was afraid of the water.

It's not that she isn't a good swimmer! She'd done it a lot when she was younger and in the pool. But witnessing her friend almost drown as kid made her too anxious to step into water again. She loved the beach, but water was not her thing. The ocean was too much and too deep for her.

(Y/N) laid in her bikini, basking in the sun. It was pink from top to bottom, had a little bit of skirt, and some little diamonds on the top. Her (S/C) glowed in the shining sun, looking beautiful and otherworldly. She really looked dazzling to anyone who would be walking by, but alas, a private beach for a wealthy woman. She was just a human, 22 year old fresh out of college just a few months ago. Her job opportunities lead her to have a the dream life she wanted. But did she really have everything..?

The sound of singing was heard in the distance. (Y/N) was immediately put into a trance against her will. To her, it just seemed like she was curious why she would hear that when she's alone. However, that was not the case. Beyond her field of vision, a dark figure hid in the depths of the water, keeping a distance away from (Y/N).

She had always been fearful of water, but it felt different to her this time. (Y/N) just had to go in there! It was like a switch went off in her mind!

(Y/N) dipped her toes into the shallow, crystal blue water. It was just about the right temperature but it sent shivers up her spine. Unaware, something wasn't right. Her defenses weren't kicking in. Survival instincts? Gone. All due to the voices of song in the distance.

She went in deeper, ending up with the water at her waistline. Its slight ripples were creating small, gentle pressures against (Y/N)'s skin. All she wanted to do was dive right-

(Y/N) gasped when she tried to step forward and ended up colliding with a broad chest, adorned with gorgeous abdominal muscles that were wet, glittering in the sun. The beautiful brown skin caught her eyes but she realized that this person had been much taller than her!

"Watch your step, In yakunaj"

She stepped back, making eye contact with the stranger. Her eyes refused to pull away; the coco eyes; black, well trimmed facial hair; thick lips that were a dusty rose; and the humped nose with a septum piercing through. (Y/N) was left speechless by this unknown man, at least she perceived him as one.

"You.. This is a private beach! I rented this fair and square for my vacation! How did you get here!?"

The man let a dark chuckle leave his throat and stepped closer to her, closing the gap between them. His lips just slightly a few inches above her soft ones.

"Kaab, this beach doesn't belong to you. I go where I please and I just happen to be here with you."

His voice sounded like velvet to (Y/N)'s ears. She hadn't even noticed the siren song still going on. She was focused entirely on him.

"Well.. Can't really argue against that.. Nothing I can do about a weird guy on the beach-"

(Y/N)'s eyes caught sight of the pointy ears. Who was this guy? She had no idea. She'd never seen anyone with ears like that!

"With abnormally pointed ears.." (Y/N) finished.

See the full post

1,071 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

namor’s favorite sleeping positions

With you, Namor would change his sleeping positions depending on his mood and day. But he’d usually be the big spoon because he loves pressing his chest against your pack, preferably when your shirt is off

He loves being the big spoon because he is so damn protective of you. If anything happened to you, he would wage war on whoever he pleased to. Even end up taking on the entire world for you.

If you guys were in the cave or in a hut on the beach, he would get into the pretzel position. The feeling of your soft breaths and and lips gently touching his pecks. Oh god, that made him feel satisfied and happy. He would love to do it when it’s raining.

Namor just loves cuddling with you, especially since he was without love his whole life until he found you. You brought love and light back into his life. And he was gonna protect it no matter what.

1,518 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[apilgrimpassingby]

I noticed this when you reblogged my post about Calvinism in one of your arguments with @theexodvs. I have some opinions.

As an Orthodox Christian, it's simultaneously funny and frustrating to me the extent to which America is an Evangelical Protestant culture. Your assumption is that Christians view the Bible as the only meaningful authority and have essentially endless freedom to revise our interpretations of it, whereas Orthodox and Roman Catholics (who make up most of the world's Christians) believe in Holy Tradition - certain interpretations of Holy Scripture (such as Nicaea's statements on Christology and the Trinity) are as canonical as the Scriptures themselves, and the councils of the church and writings of the saints constitute the background Scripture must be read against. Even the early Reformers believed something like this - Calvin said that "... all that we have done has been to restore the ancient form of the Church", and Philip Melanchthon, Luther's right-hand man, said that "it is not wise to accept any doctrine of which no record exists in the ancient Church." I could apply this to many of the things you and the others in this thread have brought up, but to pick one, the great majority of Christians throughout history have thought abortion was a sin, and most of them thought it was morally equivalent to murder, from a very early date - for example, the Didache (c.50-110 AD) says that "thou shalt not murder a child by abortion nor kill them when born" (Didache 2:2 Lightfoot translation).

Related to Holy Tradition, for Orthodox, that which is authoritative is that which has been received by the Church generally and remains received down the years; simply, that which is Tradition*. (This is different from the Roman Catholic notion of the Magisterium, because for us the statements of even the highest clergy and councils need to be tested by reception, and from the appeals of traditional Protestants to "the Fathers" because not everything in Holy Tradition is ancient and not everything ancient is part of Holy Tradition). The reason this is relevant is that Holy Tradition has preserved the writings of St. Paul as Scripture, which is the source and summit of Tradition, and so should be received as having that authority - the writings of his that don't have that authority are the ones that weren't preserved.

"The whole point of marriage in the time of Christ was procreation. Is that really the case today?" Kind of. From the Orthodox perspective, sex has three purposes - unity, pleasure and procreation. A marriage that is not open to procreation is not a legitimate marriage.

*Not everything traditionally believed by Orthodox people is Tradition. For example, Greek Orthodox historically believed in a type of vampire called the vrykolakas, but this isn't a part of Orthodox Tradition because plenty of non-Orthodox peoples (for example, Poles and Croats) have also believed in vampires and the only saint I'm aware of who wrote on the topic, St. Nicodemus the Hagiorite, had nothing but scorn for the concept.

[thestressedskittles]

Patience Is Key (Fugo x Reader, Fluff)

Kit here! Originally started by Sammy, but she was unable to finish. If it reads a little weird, I tried to work around what Sammy wrote without changing too much. Hope I did her justice! Feel free to send in requests! I can write for any characters up to part 5! Feel free to request!

Request: I hope this request is okay but can I request smth for Fugo where is s/o is basically learning Italian so she isn’t always saying everything correct and maybe Fugo is teaching her?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: reader is GN, Fugo raging, fluff, Fugo needs a hug- anything in Italics is meant to be spoken in Italian (it didn't feel right to translate everything into Italian)

A/N: I do not speak Italian, I did some quick research and that's it (and used Google translate)

DISCLAIMER: Please do not post our stories elsewhere. Even giving us credit is not acceptable. Reblogging is okay. If you see our work posted elsewhere (on platforms other than Tumblr or Wattpad, currently working on getting an AO3) please let us know.

Check out our other works: Have You Learned Your Lesson Yet?, In The Library

｡+.｡☆ﾟ｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ･*.ﾞ｡+.｡☆ﾟ｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ･*.ﾞ

Learning Italian should've been something you put at the top of your list before you moved to Italy. You, at the very least, made an effort to know phrases that would help you get around, but only that would get you so far. How you ended up in one of Italy's biggest and fiercest mafias is much of a blur and one you don't really remember. But how you got here didn't matter anymore.

After you had gotten your stand from Polpo's Black Sabbath, you were assigned to Bruno Bucciarati's team. Though you didn't know Italian very well, he took you under his wing and you met the other members: Abbacchio, Narancia, and Fugo. Narancia had been eager to talk to you, even when you admitted that you couldn't speak his language fluently. Abbacchio had been cold and distant but eventually warmed up to you ever-so-slightly. And Fugo? He was taken aback by you ever since he saw you sitting at the table with Bruno. When your (E/C) met his purple ones, he was a goner. Of course, he tried to reason with himself that you had just met and he couldn't possibly have a crush so quick on someone he had literally just laid eyes on, but he couldn't deny the tugging at his heart.

Bruno knew enough English to get his points across, but Fugo wanted to get to know you more. So, in the following weeks, you had learned to understand Italian better than you could speak it - it helped that Narancia had many stories to tell and seemed keen on telling you all about them. Eventually, you were able to piece together words and make out bits and pieces of his stories, which led to you understanding more and more of the language, listening closely to conversations between the group, and trying to make sense of what was being said. While Narancia had kept you occupied, Fugo buried his nose in books about the English language and managed to learn near-perfect English in just a few weeks. He didn't like to brag about his intelligence to other people, but he couldn't help the ego boost it gave him to learn a new language so quickly.

It didn't take long after Fugo had learned English for you and him to become close friends, and eventually more in the span of a few months. Seeing him dedicate himself to learning your language made your heart melt a little and you asked him if he could teach you Italian. Of course, he was more than happy to oblige your request. Any downtime you had was spent with Fugo, in his room, or in the restaurant learning the basics of the language.

And here you sat in the very same chair where the group had greeted you all those months ago. Today was sunny, clouds shifting in front of the sun every so often to dampen its bright rays, alongside a breeze that carried many different scents from baked bread to gourmet food. Bruno was out once again, claiming he would be back soon but never specified a time. Abbacchio was still and stoic as always, listening to music through his headphones; Mista was enjoying a cup of tea and completely engaged in a book he had recently gotten into. As for Fugo, Narancia, and you? You all were in a study triangle, as you called it, Fugo being the teacher to both you and Narancia.

"You're getting the hang of it, tesorino. Once you get trilling down, the words will roll off your tongue." Fugo's voice was sweet and encouraging. You sighed and rested your head in your hand. The blond reached a hand out and rested it on your shoulder. He knew how easy it was to get discouraged from learning a new language. Applying some pressure, he began to rub your shoulder and rub away at the tension. "Just a few more times."

You exhale slowly and nod. Looking at the paper, you read the sentence out loud once again. This time, you fumbled less and managed to trill the "r's" better than any of your previous tries, a grin lighting your features at the noticeable difference. Fugo also had a big smile on his face, nodding as you read the line again, then two more times, finally feeling the flow of the sentence roll off your tongue with ease.

"Perfetto, amore!" Fugo exclaimed. "I promise, the more we do this, the easier it will become. You're still a little off on the timing, try it like this." Fugo read the sentence out loud and you listened closely before trying again. When you mastered the sentence, he gave you a slightly harder one. This time, you fumbled again. Still not used to rolling your "r's", you pronounced the word like it had one. A dark shadow fell across Fugo's features, the smile he had moments ago nowhere to be seen. You knew that look all too well, though you've never been the one receiving the look.

His eyes usually bright purple eyes narrowed and he was quick to turn in his seat, grabbing a plate from the table and smashing it to the ground, sending pieces of it flying in every direction. Fugo didn't stop there, standing up and going over to a table across from you and destroying its contents, all the while yelling and cursing out everything under the sun. Mista finally looked up from his book and gave a questioning look to you and Narancia.

Fugo looks back and notices Mista, Narancia, and you looking at him. Mista rolls his shoulders and goes back to his book, Narancia watching the show with giddy expectation, and you are looking at him with wide eyes. His gaze immediately softens. He couldn't see any fear or other emotion in your eyes, but he hated it when he showed you this side of him. Explosive and impulsive, destructive and dangerous. He wishes he could hide this part of him away from you. Even when you told him that you loved him, flaws and all, he still couldn't help but feel ashamed that he couldn't control his anger.

Taking a few deep breaths, he made his way back to the table, sitting down and finally meeting your eyes again. There was something soft in your eyes, something caring. Something he was always relieved to see after his outbursts. You tentatively reached your hand out and placed it softly on his shoulder, his muscles tensing for a brief moment before relaxing. A soft smile comes to your lips and he can't help but get lost in your features. He exhales slowly and gains his composure back.

"I'm sorry," his voice soft and laced with regret. Looking at you for a few moments longer, taking in the way your features made him want to never stop looking at you. He loved that he could look at you and everything around him disappears: his stress, his problems, and most importantly, his anger. He could never stay mad at you.

"Va tutto bene, lo prometto." Your own voice barely above a whisper. "So che non... mi faresti mai del male. Ti amo ancora lo stesso, difetti e tutto." It's okay, I promise. I know you would never hurt me. I still love you the same, flaws and all. Fugo's eyes widen slightly. Though your accent was a bit off and your confidence wavered ever-so-slightly, he was impressed. A smile creeps onto his lips upon hearing your words.

"Cosa ho fatto per meritare qualcuno come te, amore?" What did I do to deserve someone like you, love? He grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, leaning in close and enjoying your presence before Narancia pipes up.

"How is this, Fugo?" Narancia slides over his worksheet, Fugo quickly picking it up and looking it over. Immediately he can see that almost every answer is wrong. Before he has time to get angry, a firm squeeze from your hand is enough to quell the rage that boiled deep within him. Taking in a deep breath, and letting his frustration show through his voice instead, he began to, once again, go over the basics of multiplication with Narancia, who seemed to be paying close attention for once.

Keeping your hands intertwined, you watched Fugo, squeezing his hand every time you felt him tense. Roughly an hour later, Bruno shows up and notices the destroyed table. He takes a good look at it before huffing and coming over to sit at the table. Everyone's attention is on him.

"I think I may have found a new member for our team."